I am Padraic James Ratigan
by iamtyping98
Summary: Padraic James Ratigan was a baby when he was left in an orphanage, with nothing but a name on a scrap of paper. Completely alone in a world that despises rats, it is a constant struggle to stay alive, much less sane. He longs to show the world his true genius, but is constantly stopped. With help from a few kind souls he could make it. Maybe. (ANOTHER backstory for Ratigan.)
1. The Beginning

"Get back inside this instant!"

Elsa smiled as she listened to Mrs. Jaffin shout at her brood of children. It was evening and the neighborhood was lit with a warm orange glow. All around the small block little ones were scampering inside to swallow their suppers quickly in hopes of finishing fast enough to get back outside before dark. The smell of soup and freshly baked bread floated from the many apartments. Elsa herself currently had a vegetable soup simmering on the stove. At the moment she was multitasking, as was her specialty. She was listening for the rattle of the lid on the soup pot, should it decide to boil over while she was outside, hanging sheets in the narrow alleyway next to her home, and watching for the arrival of her husband.

She did not have to wait long, for up the walk he came. He was certainly hard to miss; a tall thin creature, he looked the type that should be wearing some form of suit, rather than the worn jacket, coat, and trousers which he donned. Ely worked in a shoe factory, gathering left over scraps of lace and leather from the upper human work area to take downstairs to the place where the mice would stitch the pieces together to sell in the shops. In truth Ely had been cut out for finer work, something he knew and held a bitter grudge over. Indeed, every time he was forced to look his floor manager in the eye and explain why he hadn't been able to bring back more, he couldn't help but think how easily he could rob this mouse of his job, or better yet of his crumb covered whiskers.

But he didn't think of that now. No, as he strode towards his home the only thing he saw was Elsa smiling at him as if he was some form of royalty. He marched up to her, easily lifted her from the ground, and swung her in a circle, the both of them laughing like children.

"Oh, put me down you fool," she chuckled.

"If you insist," he said with an exaggerated air of reluctance, and set her back on the ground. For a moment they stood that way, arms wrapped around each other, smiling.

Her eyes were tired from cleaning houses all day and then coming home to do her own chores. His coat was full of holes that would have to be sewn. Her black hair was falling out of her braid and he was in desperate need of a shave.

But of course, when love is involved, such imperfections rarely mattered and he leaned down and kissed her, not a bit concerned that any neighbors could possibly be watching.

However, they were soon interrupted by a loud squeaking. Looking down, Ely spied his young son toddling about in his mother's vegetable garden, casually pulling up both weeds and carrots and letting out squeals of delight as he flung them.

"You little scamp," Elsa laughed, stepping away from her husband and lifting the baby high above her head. "How many times has Mummy told you not to play with her vegetables, hm?"

The child mumbled a few unintelligible words and made random gestures in the direction of the garden.

"Oh, now Elsa, he was just having a bit of fun," Ely said, taking the boy from her. "Isn't that right, you little ruffian?" This was met with a short burst of giggles and much babbling. Elsa picked up her now empty laundry basket and carried it in through the side door of the house, followed closely by her husband.

A tiny table with two mismatched chairs sat in the center of the kitchen. The stove, with the soup still bubbling, was set close to the only window while the sink was further down the wall. Through the door was a tiny entry room where strangers came in; everyone else entered through the kitchen. Past that was a little sitting room with a pair of chairs and a threadbare carpet. The last room, in the back, was where the three of them slept: Elsa and Ely, and of course the baby rested in one of their dresser drawers.

Ely plopped down in one of the kitchen chairs and bounced the baby on his knee. "Aren't Martin and Molly coming for supper, dear?"

"Yes, I expect they'll be here soon. Goodness knows it's a bit of a walk from their neighborhood to ours, especially with three children in tow."

"Well, not all little ones can be as well behaving as my boy, now can they?" He asked this merrily, chucking the baby under his chin.

"No, I don't suppose," Elsa said, stirring the soup. "I almost forgot; how was your day?"

His day? He had been yelled at by the foreman, cursed at by the mouse workers, laughed at by his fellow rats, and a human, upon discovering him, had nearly broken his back with an oversized broom.

"Fairly regular, I'd say," he quipped.

Just then there was a hard pounding against the front door. His brow creased with concern, Ely rose, passed the baby to his wife, and went to open the door. Upon opening it, he saw a rat in ragged moth eaten clothes, leaning against the door frame for support. Ely easily recognized him by the scar that was etched next to one of his bright yellow eyes.

"Pavel? What on-?"

"They're coming."

Ely froze. "What?"

"You heard me! They are coming tonight!"

A million and one thoughts flew threw Ely's mind. "What about Mar-

"Martin and his bunch are waiting; now hurry! We don't have much time! They're coming!"

The repetition of this phrase took its toll. Ely thrust his head into the kitchen and barked, "Forget the soup! Go pack! Now!"

"What-

"NOW!"

Having never been shouted at by him before, Elsa immediately obeyed. She rushed to the bedroom, baby in tow, and began throwing things into a suitcase. Meanwhile Ely and the one he called Pavel worked furiously to upturn furniture and destroy the kitchen utensils in an attempt to make the place look as if it'd been abandoned years ago. Satisfied, Ely pulled on his coat and rapidly interrogated his companion.

"How do you know?"

"Heard it from a friend; 'parently someone snitched. Someone from the inside."

"Who? The Baileys?"

"Hard to say. There's so many living here right now. But they know about this place _and _Martin's block _and _a few others. You know the law-

"No living in large groups, I know," Ely snapped, and silently cursed whoever had betrayed their secret. "Elsa, hurry up back there!"

She finally emerged her coat on and the suitcase full of hastily gathered essentials. The baby was propped on her hip and looking around, thoroughly confused as to what was going on. Pavel snatched the suitcase and led Elsa out of the house while Ely rummaged through an old trunk that sat in the corner.

"Where is it, where is it- Aha!" He pulled out a small case, opened it and yanked out a loaded revolver. One could never be too careful. He then flew out the door and quickly caught up to the others. They had to leave fast. They snuck silently through the block, not wanting to attract attention. Not everyone could leave with them. Pavel, upon hearing the news, had known that only a few would be able to escape in time and had gone after his friends first.

Stepping hastily through the back alleys they made the way to their meeting place. A mid sized rat, Martin, as well as a lady dressed in a thick coat, was standing there trying to calm down three frightened young ones. They looked up and instantly embraced the newcomers. The lady, Molly, squeezed Elsa tight in an attempt to alleviate her own fears and Martin and Ely thumped each other on the back.

When the greetings were over, Martin asked, "Alright Pavel, where is this man of yours?"

"Shouldn't take but a moment to reach him. We just have to-

Shots were heard just then and everyone hit their knees in fear. They were coming from the distance; from the neighborhood. The police had already arrived. Pavel was the first to stand again and shouted, "_Run, damn it, run! RUN!_"

The others stood and without argument raced after their friend. Past rubbish bins and overturned crates they ran, the sound of shots and screaming ringing in their ears. The children, unable to run very fast, had to be scooped up, Martin and Molly each carrying one while Ely grabbed the third. Pavel juggled the luggage while Elsa held tight to her own son who by now was letting out hoarse, frightened cries.

"Shut him up, will ya," Ely snapped at her.

"He's frightened!"

"Ain't no time for that!"

"We'll be spotted," Molly shrieked.

"Shut it all of you," Pavel barked over his shoulder. "This way!"

The group darted around a corner, upsetting a group of homeless mice who had been about to a supper of rotting fruit, and kept going with Pavel expertly leading the way. He'd grown up in these alleys and knew the precise route they needed. More shots were heard, but these were much closer. That was when he realized; the police weren't in the neighborhood anymore. They were chasing after runaways.

"RUN!"

Past the factories, shops, and stands, around corners, up alleys and side streets, under street lamps they ran, no one daring to look back. Normally Pavel would have taken a more direct way but this was the best method of losing their pursuers. Finally they reached an open street where a human carriage was waiting. The horses were stamping their hooves, impatiently waiting to leave as the humans loaded their things.

After pausing a moment to make sure the humans weren't paying any attention, the rats darted across and underneath the carriage, where another rat was waiting. He was taller than the others and much more muscular, his arms and legs like solid tree trunks. "You're late," he muttered in a slow, dumb voice.

"We were being chased, alright? Now just help us load this stuff," Pavel snapped. The rat shrugged, took the suitcases, and in one fluid motion heaved them into the small compartment on the under side of the carriage that would serve as their transport. Pavel turned to the group. "Alright now, from here we're goin' to the docks. We're gonna take a ship to the main land. We can figure something out from there; everyone okay with that?" No one really had a choice, and at the sound of more shots coming from the distance each of the adults gave a hasty nod.

Martin and Ely hastily loaded their families into the carriage while Pavel slapped a few coins into the large rat's hand. He hopped up into the little compartment and soon they were on their way.

Inside it was cramped and hot with a terrible smell that indicated this place had been used often. As the carriage bumped and bounced through the cobblestone streets, everyone's discomfort was increased by the baby's constant squalling. "You're gonna have to shut him up, Ely," Pavel said. "Or else they won't let him on the ship."

"I know," Ely grunted. "Can't you quiet him," he hissed to his wife.

Elsa, thoroughly exhausted at this point, did her best to calm the baby by bouncing him up and down. If anything the baby's cries only seemed to worsen. One of the other children began to whine as well, but was quickly silenced by a smack from Martin.

Soon they reached the docks. A small supply ship was heading towards the main land and was currently being loaded. The carriage stopped close by and both humans and rats piled out, luggage in tow. The rats jogged as fast as they could manage over to rope which would serve as their gangplank. A scruffy, oversized mouse stood nearby to oversee their crossing. Martin's group began their ascension without trouble, but the mouse roughly reached forward and grabbed Elsa as she walked by.

"Hey," Ely barked. "What do you-

"No babes," the mouse said.

"What," Elsa asked.

"No babes on board the ship. Make too much noise; specially this one." The baby had ceased his cries but was now whimpering loudly.

"You two can come," the mouse continued. "But that one's gotta stay."

The two parents stood aghast at what they were being told. After their entire ordeal they were being told to leave their baby. "No," Elsa said firmly. "Never."

Pavel, having been listening, said, "Come now El-

"No! I won't leave him! Never! Tell him Ely!"

Everyone looked to the tall rat. He was looking back and forth between Elsa, the ship, and the baby. He seemed to be thinking.

"Ely," Elsa said, her voice now trembling. "Tell them… Say you won't- That we would never…"

Ely looked at the ship one last time before turning back to his wife. He looked her in the eyes steadily. Then he reached forward and yanked the child from her arms.

"NO!" Elsa shrieked and tried to grab the baby back, but Pavel had her restrained. "There's an orphanage just down that way," he said, "but hurry." Ely nodded and ran once more into the night, Elsa's howls ringing in his ears.

"_Let me go! Anything but him! I'll give you anything but him!"_

Pavel held on to her tightly. "Hush, there, Els. It's what's best." At these words, she sank to her knees, sobbing.

Ely had no trouble finding the orphanage. It was the most run down building in the area, a faded sign outside claiming room for anyone. He wound around the back of the building and found steps that led to the rodent entrance of the building. Carefully he looked around before setting his son down on the step.

The child had long stopped whining altogether and now looked up at his father in interest. Was this a new game? Why had Mummy been shouting? And why was Daddy looking at him like that?

Ely wiped away a single tear as he stared at his boy. He was a bit scrawny for his age and the clothes he wore dwarfed him further. He had a scrap of oily black hair, yellow eyes, and had already grown two rows of viciously sharp teeth. People had always claimed the boy looked like his father. But the truth was that in a few years his son would no doubt be mixed in with the rest of society's rats, the downtrodden but domesticated group as well as the terrifying sewer dwellers. Such was the way things went for orphans; at least the ones that survived childhood.

"To think you'll grow up not knowing who you belonged to. Who you are…" Ely couldn't let that happen. He thought quickly and reached into his pocket where he kept an ink pen and a scrap of paper.

"Here," he said, scribbling on the paper and tearing it off. He pressed it into the child's tiny fist. "Hang on to this, alright?"

The child blinked then smiled up at his father, not yet at the stage where he could fully understand. Ely sniffed and squeezed the boy one last time, capturing the memory of those tiny hands pressing against his face.

And then he left. Thirty minutes later the ship left port. Four hours after that the orphanage maid would step outside and shriek at the sight of a small rat on her porch steps. It would be years before the boy would read what the paper said.

'_I am Padraic James Ratigan.'_


	2. The Orphanage

It was evening, though the dense fog masked the port town enough that one could have guessed it was any time of day. A slight drizzle was accompanied by an even slighter wind. The local orphanage's wooden sign was swinging back and forth in the breeze. The sign still claimed 'Room for All'. What a fantastic fib.

Inside the crowded building, the human children had been herded like cattle into the kitchen area where their dinner rations were being distributed. The cook sighed as the endless line of young'uns shoved and jostled their way to her. Over and over she lazily dipped the ladle in, came up with a steaming serving of broth, carrots, and potatoes, and deposited into each wooden bowl. She only paid enough attention to spot when some children tried to go through the line twice. The trouble makers would be denied their piece of the near stale bread that the nursemaid was passing out.

A few crumbs of course would always fall on the floor. These were either snatched by particularly hungry waifs or scraped into to the corners. "For the mice," they'd say.

And the mice children who lived beneath their floorboards (unbeknownst to the Head Mistress, of course) would have enjoyed the crumbs greatly, had they been allowed to fetch them. Unfortunately they were forbidden to ever go up to the human levels, let alone take anything.

At the moment they were also having their allotted food dispensed to them. The cook, simply called Cookie, was a fierce woman who tolerated no mischief in her presence. If anyone were to act up she would promptly give the child a verbal lashing that would reduce them to tears faster than the rod ever could.

The maid, Josie, was a sweet girl with a sweet smile that more than made up for the cook's harsh words. Boys would blush and girls would grin as her gentle hands would pat their heads and hand them their bread crusts. Everyone loved Josie dearly.

Once they had their food, each child would sit on one of the long tightly packed benches that lined the table in the dining hall. With so many of them, the children had to sit shoulder to shoulder and bumping elbows was inevitable. There was only one chair at the table; that of the Mouse Mistress.

The Mistress was a calm woman who in all the years she had commanded the orphanage, had never been witnessed blinking. She did not have to warn the children the way Cookie did. Her simply being there demanded utmost respect and discipline on the children's part. When she spoke her words were clear and direct. When her cool blue gaze was fixed on you, you paid attention. She was the sovereign ruler of every single orphan that passed through her door; even the rats.

* * *

"Ow! Move over, you flea biter!"

"Make me sewage sucker!"

"Will ya both shut yer bazoos and find the damned cards? I'm so fed up I could drop dead."

"What's stoppin ya?"

"The though of knocking one o' your teeths out is pleasing enough to keep me."

Satisfied with his threat, Biter leaned back against the wall and waited for a reaction.

A faint growl could be heard coming from Scratch who had been issued the threat. But before he could properly retaliate, a cry of, "Found 'em," came from Itchy.

Itchy was currently trying to wrestle the cards away from Gus who claimed it was time he had the chance to deal. Nettie, sitting nearby, picked at her teeth and looked on, bored.

"Hey, Rusty," Biter called. "Get over 'ere!"

If someone had been listening they would have guessed that Biter was the leader of the group of rats that lived in the orphanage cellar. In truth no one was in charge. Biter (whose real name was Byron) was nothing but a bag of hot air, and the others put up with him to a certain extent on the grounds that if he went too far they'd beat him to a pulp.

Rusty hopped up and dragged his brother, Red, over to the group. Itchy had finally snatched the cards away and was currently dealing them out. Rusty plopped down and Red sat close by.

While the cards were being passed out the rats eyed each other, deciding who would cheat and who to cheat against. In the cellar not a soul could be trusted when it came to cards.

In the group, there was Biter (Byron) a nine year old who was called so for his unnaturally large teeth. He would often bare them when angered, though half the time he would just deal out threats without actually hurting anyone.

Also nine, Scratch, Biter's friend as well as rival, had a tendency to claw anyone who angered him. His real name was Silas, but calling him this was the fastest way to a hospital bed. He and Biter matched each other in strength and viciousness and would often get into fights that would usually be forgotten about within an hour. As Itchy handed them cards the pair narrowed their eyes and grinned, a look of combined hate and respect.

Itchy (christened Isaac) was a thin eight year old rat with spectacles. Itchy was, in a sense, bald, because unlike the other rats he did not have black hair on top of his had, instead only having a scrap of gray fur. He was called Itchy because whenever he was nervous he would scratch at his arms and legs in a manner that suggested he was covered in ants.

Gus, or August, was eight and enjoyed arguing with everyone, though Itchy seemed to be his favorite competitor. Whenever faced with conflict he would hold steadfast to his opinion until someone either proved him wrong or punched him.

Today this someone was Nettie, Gus's twin sister, as well as the only girl. Besides her dress and slightly longer hair, she was almost indistinguishable from the boys. She was currently punching her twin for the crime of pouting after Itchy had won the card fight. Pouting was a sign of weakness, something which she had no tolerance for.

Then there was Rusty and Red (once known as Ralph and Rufus). Rusty, though only seven, was the largest of the rats and called so because his mind was rusty and slower than molasses in January. Red was five and had a red hot temper. He was prone to tantrums that would leave the already broken furniture kept in the cellar in a complete wreck. Though no one in the cellar had a particularly strong bond to begin with, Rusty was the only one who didn't absolutely _loathe _Red.

The cards had been dealt and by the dim light, they played. Some days they would play Loo, but everyone (except Red who was banned from any and all games) looked forward to playing Poker. It gave them a chance to win matches, brass and copper buttons, cigarettes, and any other old items they could find and use to bet with. For thirty minutes loot was placed down and bluffs were stated. When the cards came down, it was Scratch who proudly dragged the pile to him, grinning right in Biter's face.

"Well, well, well," he taunted. "Seems I be the winner. Would ya like a smoke there Biter? I gots plenty."

"No. Thanks," his friend spat in return. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a cigarette of his own. "I'm covered."

As these two were arguing and the others were throwing their cards into a lopsided pile, Red stood up. He had heard something that made the corners of his mouth turn up into a naughty grin.

"Hello," he whispered as we walked away from the group and into one of the cellar's darker corners. The rats lived in constant darkness outside one barred and boarded window and whatever shafts of light managed to creep under the cellar door. Because of this they were accustomed to dark and could see nearly as well as most could in the day; but even they had their limits, which was why it was rare for them to wander into this corner. Only one of them went over here.

"Hey there," Red whispered in a syrupy voice. "How ya doing?"

He received no answer, as usual. Red snickered and stepped further into the shadows. "What's the matter? _Cat _got yer tongue?"

A slight shuffling could be heard. It was the sound of old newspapers sliding under a small person.

Red carefully stepped closer, timing the event. One, two, three-

There it was! Something shot out of the corner like a bullet from a gun. With a great cheer Red gave chase. The two wound around a few old boxes and stacks of newspaper, beneath the old window, and finally the prey ran in the direction of the rats that were still circled up; a fatal mistake. In his hurry Red's victim collided with Scratch, sending the winner hurdling forward into Gus. Red let out a screechy laugh and dove on top of the pile, pinning his kill to the floor.

The thing squirmed and let out a slight squeal. With another laugh like nails on a chalkboard, Red began wickedly pinching, slapping, and punching the tiny being. He only stopped when he noticed Rusty having to bar Scratch from trying to kill him.

"You little-!"

"He didn't mean to!

"Aw, knock it off Scratch," Biter said, standing up and putting a hand on his friend's shoulder. "Red's jus' havin' a lil bit o' fun with our Runt."

Red giggled and again pinched Runt who whimpered and tried to shove the larger boy off. His weak arms were already scratched and had bruises forming on bruises. Runt was only two, the youngest rat in the cellar, and considered to be just another mouth to feed. Because he was normally the one who got smacked or talked down to, Red, in a way, loved Runt. He was the only person in the world who Red could beat up.

Outside of being a form of stress relief whenever Red wasn't around, the others had only one use for their smallest member.

"Well," Itchy said. "At least ya brought 'im out. It's almost supper."

"Yeah," said Gus with a snigger. "We wouldn't want our guests leavin' without a present, would we?"

* * *

"Josie."

The maid nearly leaped out of her skin when the Mistress spoke to her. "Y-yes ma'am?"

"It's time."

Josie trembled, her sweet smile already long gone. "Must I?"

The Mistress looked at her steadily and without losing eye contact, took a sip of her tea. The mice had been sent to bed. There was only one thing left to do; and it was Josie's duty now that Cookie had stated she would rather rip her tail off than do it.

"Someone has to," the Mistress finally said.

Josie gave a shaky nod. Before she and Cookie would take turns; but if Cookie didn't want to, she wouldn't be swayed. And the very idea of the Mistress doing it was absurd. Josie dipped her head and the Mistress left. With shaking hands the young girl lifted the tray of bread and soup that had been on the counter for several days growing stale and cold.

Slowly she walked into the back room where the door leading down to the cellar was located. The door was bolted and padlocked shut. Carefully she took the key from the wall and in one brave motion undid the lock and slid the bolt to the side.

With its catches gone the door creaked open. A musty, wet smell floated up the steps, causing Josie to gag. It was the smell of rotted food, soggy papers, and long unwashed fur. On the verge of fainting, Josie stepped forward, tray in hand, and looked down into the darkness.

She descended slowly, putting both feet on one step before venturing to the next one. Josie tried counting the steps to soothe her nerves but in her nervousness she kept losing count until she found herself at the bottom of the steps.

Josie opened her mouth and whispered a small, "Hello?" into the darkness. When there was no answer she set the tray down in the middle of the floor and started to back away. But the maid froze when a voice said, "What, no dessert?"

Josie whirled around to see a large mouthful of teeth smiling at her. With a squeaking cry she tried to run but ran into a long pair of claws, unsheathed and shining in the dim light. She kept trying to run but each time bumped into someone with yellow eyes, bristled fur, and a wicked little smile.

"What's the matter?" a small one asked.

"_Rat_ got yer tongue?" said one with glasses.

"Don't leave," one whispered.

"Oh, please don't leave," another murmured.

"Yes don't leave!" "Stay!" "Stay with us!" "Stay forever!"

"You'll like it down here," said the one with long claws, who now reached out for Josie in an almost friendly manner. Josie tried to scream but no sound came. She was surrounded, a rat on each side of her, smiling with their sharp fangs. Slowly she raised her hands in front of her in defense. This earned a series of chuckles from each of them that echoed against the stone walls.

"Are you afraid?" asked the largest one.

Before Josie could even register the question, something landed on her head. Josie jumped, looked up, and screeched when her eyes met a pair of yellow orbs. With another bloodcurdling scream she ran to the steps, slammed her head against the wall and knocked off the clinger. Then she took the stairs two at a time, reached the top, and slammed the door shut. After thoroughly locking it she fell to the floor and cried until Cookie came into to tell her to grow up and get used to it.

* * *

Josie's departure left the rats falling over in uproarious laughter. Oh, how they adored terrifying the people who had locked them away.

"It's almost too easy," Biter said, wiping away a tear.

"I agree," Scratch said through a giggle.

"Did you hear the way she screamed?" Itchy chuckled.

Nettie opened her mouth and let out a mocking cry of fright that left the others in hysterics once more.

Runt said on the floor and rubbed the part of his head that had been banged against the wall. As the smallest he was always the one to be thrown on top of their guests. Of course he didn't like this; first of all it often led to some form of injury.

And second was that he didn't like scaring people. And he especially didn't want to scare Josie. Whenever Runt crawled up onto one of the molded bookshelves he would watch the mice through the floorboards. He would watch the mice scrabble around unaware of what went on beneath him. And there was Josie, giving out bread, patting heads, smoothing hair, and smiling like an angel. Runt loved Josie more than anyone else in the orphanage, and more than anything he wished that she would pat his head and hug him the way she did the other children.

With a sigh Runt got up slowly, weary of how dizzy he was from his knock to the noggin. The bigger rats were digging into their feast. Scratch and Biter ripped a large bread crust in half as Gus, Itchy, and Nettie dipped their hands into the pot to scoop the ice cold broth. Rusty too reached into the pot and pulled out a small meat chunk which he handed to Red. Red swallowed the meat in one gulp and greedily waited for his brother to get him more.

Quietly, not wanting any more attention this evening, Runt made his way over to the group. A mid sized bread chunk sat on the tray, abandoned for the moment. Everyone else was busy, and in one swift movement Runt snatched the bread and sped back to his corner.

"HEY," Red cried. "That was mine!"

"Shoulda watched it closer," Gus said through a mouthful of soup.

"Yeah, dunce," said Nettie as she licked soup from her palms. "It ain't yours till ye've eaten it."

Red looked to his brother for help, but Rusty just shrugged and dipped his own bread into the soup before eating it.

In his corner, Runt ravenously tore into the stale bread. It was the most he'd eaten in months and he enjoyed every mouthful.

After every crumb had been swallowed and the soup had been lapped up, Rusty and Itchy took the tray to the top of the steps while the others settled in for the night. Scratch and Biter crawled into their old tarp hammocks that hung beneath the boarded window. Red crawled into an old drawer that had once been attached to a mouse sized dresser. Gus and Nettie crawled into a match box lined with molded blankets. When her brother instantly fell asleep, Nettie rolled her eyes and pulled the thin sheet over the both of them. When Itchy and Rusty came back they got into the small shoe that they shared. After a half hearted round of good nights the cellar fell silent.

Lying on his pile of soggy newspaper, Runt held his breath and listened. Josie had recovered from her scare and was now in the large room where the mice slept, reading to them from a tattered old storybook. That was why Runt slept in this dark corner: to listen. The vents perfectly delivered Josie's voice to the opening near his head, and every night he would overhear tales of dragons, pirates, wizards, and other fanciful things. Runt could close his eyes and be taken far away from the cellar.

As Josie uttered the magic words, "_Once upon a time…"_ Runt put one thumb in his mouth while his other hand clutched a piece of paper. Runt didn't know where he'd gotten the paper, or what it said, just that he was supposed to hold it.

Runt listened to Josie's story about a king until his eyelids drooped so heavily that he was forced to close them. That night it rained and his corner flooded, but Runt slept on, too tired to care.


	3. The Book and the Name

Days and nights faded into one another as the rats passed their lives away in the dark. Upstairs children came and went, ran around, and rattled the floorboards overhead. Josie took up the habit of leaving the tray on the top step before slamming the door shut. The rats, while underfed, grew larger and more fearsome everyday.

Life had a certain routine in the cellar. Wake up; entertain themselves for as long as they could manage, (maybe) eat, and go back to sleep, with various fights intermixed. With so little to do the rats were often bored and aggravated.

Except for Runt; he alone had more to look forward to than poker games and the chance of a bowl of soup. A year had gone by, and he now had memorized every word that whispered to him through the pipes. They helped him get through the day, and he would sometimes whisper them out loud to himself whenever he was recovering from a particularly fierce beating.

Such was the case at the moment. Itchy had suffered teasing at the hands of Scratch a while ago, and had decided to take out his frustrations on someone more his size. As Runt licked his wounds he went over the different tales and tried to remain calm. Being calm was key; when the other rats got angry they only hurt themselves, each other, or most often him. When he chose to relax and accept the thrashing, at least one person came out of the situation happy.

Incredibly sore, Runt lay in his newspaper bed for the remainder of the day and waited. And waited. And waited…

He sat up slowly. Where was Josie? Why wasn't she reading?

Runt waited a while longer but still he didn't detect the sound of the maid reading aloud. The young boy began to get frustrated. He had waited hours only to be disappointed? This would not stand!

Getting to his feet as quickly as he could, Runt climbed up the rotting book case and peered through the floorboards. Yes, the mouse children had clearly gone to bed for none of them could be seen. But where were the adults? Runt stood on his toes and strained to hear the familiar sound of Cookie banging around while she cleaned up the kitchen. But there were no clanks of pots or clunks of wooden bowls. Only…whispers. Whispers faint enough that he could hear but not understand them.

Standing there on the shelf, high above one floor and right below another, Runt suddenly felt a spark of something: a deep, strong longing, an urge to discover what was being said. For the first time in his sheltered little life, he was curious.

Runt quickly scampered down shelves and knelt in front of his vent. It was just large enough to fit him; if he could get inside that was. Carefully he wiggled his fingers in between the grate and wall. Not much room… He'd have to make more. Looking around he spotted an old discarded broom handle. The small rat fetched the handle and forced one end into the narrow space. With the sound of metal scraping wood, the handle slid in a short ways. After a bit of manipulation it slipped farther inside.

He took a moment to breathe. Pushing in the handle hadn't been easy. This part would be even harder. His strength renewed, Runt went to the other side and pressed all his weight against the makeshift lever.

A soft squeak was heard, followed closely by a slow groaning of the metal grate as it gave way from its place in the wall. Runt was so delighted he almost shouted out loud when the barrier gave way just enough for him to be able to slip inside.

Once in, the boy took in his surroundings. Nothing but dust and cobwebs for as far as he could one could see, though Runt could have sworn he saw a few glittering eyes peering at him from the darkness.

Now that he had his bearings, the rat began his journey through the lengths of the vents.

First he walked down a long corridor until he reached a high wall. Not to be impeded, Runt easily shimmied his way up using various cracks and crevices in the wall. He reached a landing with one passage leading away to his left and the other to his right. Before he could choose which to take, he heard voices coming from the left, and immediately set course for that direction.

After traveling a few lengths Runt found himself under another grate. Above him, in the kitchen, the ladies who ran the orphanage were conversing, and from the sound of things Cookie wasn't happy.

"Honestly! We been lookin' after 'em for God knows how long! They don't belong 'ere in the first place! Now we finally have a chance to get rid of 'em _and _make a profit, and you say no?"

"Yes," Runt heard the Mistress reply. "That is exactly what I say."

"Have you gone _daffy?_"

"Pardon me, ma'am." Josie's soft sweet voice tickled Runt's ears. "But really, why keep them? All they do is sit down there… planning-planning a way to break out or-or hurt someone!"

"Nonsense. I have it on good authority that they play card games."

"_Card games,"_ Cookie sneered. "Oh, well ain't that just lovely! I suppose they like skippin' and singing songs, sweet babes that they are!"

"They attacked me," Josie whined. "It was awful!"

"They're nothing but little criminals!"

"Horrid monsters!"

At this point Runt was very confused. Criminals? The rats had not committed any crimes; how could they when they stayed in the same place all the time? And monsters? Josie thought he was a monster?

"They-!"

"_Silence."_

The Mistress barely raised her voice above its normal cold monotone, yet it was enough to make Cookie silent. Runt heard a whimper come from Josie.

"I am the head of this household," the Mistress spoke in what sounded like a hiss. "I make the rules. And I say that those who live in the basement shall stay. Am I understood?"

The question was met with silence. Slowly Cookie and Josie let out murmurs of understanding. Runt shook his head and crawled away from the vent. The strange subject had closed. He had no reason to hang around and listen to conversations that made no logical sense. Besides, that certainly hadn't been the reason he's come up here.

Runt retraced his steps and this time took the right passage. It led him to underneath the long room filled to the brim with mice children. This grate was much looser than the one in the cellar and Runt easily squeezed through.

Carefully he tiptoed his way across the room. Most everyone was asleep, and those that weren't didn't seem to notice the miniscule rat lurking in their quarters.

The boy made it to the end of the room and found his prize: the storybook lay on a small round table in the corner, just above his head. Runt walked over and reached as high as he could and-

Yes! He pulled the book down and clutched it to his chest. It was his at last! Though…

Stealing wasn't exactly noble; he knew that much. After all it seemed to be frowned upon in many of the stories within the book, with people being turned to toads for it. But then again, it seemed as if half of the stories' heroes were thieves themselves, taking things from giants and witches and other much hated creatures. Was it a crime to steal from someone nobody liked? And on the flip side, was it a crime if everyone already disliked you?

Runt chewed on such questions for a moment or two. Then he heard a squeak…like the floorboards…like someone getting out of bed.

There was no more time to be stealthy. Runt hurtled himself past the line of beds, not caring how much noise his bare feet made as they hit the floor. He had to have his book.

Halfway down the row he crashed into someone and the two fell to the floor in a startled heap. Runt collected himself first and stood so that he could get a better look at the-

Mouse? _This_ was what mice children looked like? The thing was even smaller than he was!

But, while small, the child had a good set of lungs, and her screams pierced the silence of the room. Using his free hand to spare one of his ears, Runt jumped over the shrieking being and hurled himself to the grate. It was harder to get through while holding the book, but the boy refused to let it go. Around the room more mice were waking up and trying to figure out what was going on in the dark.

By the time Josie showed up to check what was wrong, Runt had managed to squeeze through the grate, runt down the vent passageway, hurl himself down the long drop, hit the bottom, run the short distance to his own familiar grate, and wedge his way into the comforting dampness of the cellar. It would take hours for Josie to calm the screaming girl down, and even longer to realize that she would never see her book again.

* * *

While the rights and wrongs that surround the subject of thievery have been debated for many years, stealing the book was honestly one of the best things Runt ever could have done for himself.

Because he already had the stories memorized, it didn't take long for him to match up the words he knew by heart to those printed within the pages. Runt went through the whole book, mentally synchronizing his recollections with the ink markings. When he reached the end and shut the book, the young rat sat up and realized something: he'd taught himself to read.

And now that he'd learned, he couldn't stop. Runt hungered for the written word more than bread and soup. He picked through his newspaper bed, reading of the goings on in the outside world. He studied labels on boxes and cans he found in the cellar. Nettie nearly killed him for crawling into her bed to read the writing on the match box.

But nothing the other rats did could hurt him anymore. Each pinch, poke, and punch only added fuel to the fire. For every blow he suffered Runt wanted to learn more, so that one day he could stand above the others. He wanted to hear them cheer his name! Then again, what was his name?

Runt got his answer one night when he remembered the piece of paper; he'd tucked it into his pants so as to keep track of it. Now he pulled it out and read: _I am Padraic James Ratigan._

Hm… Was this a message from someone, announcing who they were? Or could this be a way of giving someone who couldn't speak some form of identification to give to others? Runt decided on the latter. In the dark he whispered it out loud, "I am Padraic James Ratigan." Yes… This was his name. No one else's but his. It was something that he could hold on to, forever.

"I am Padraic James Ratigan," he said loud enough for everyone to hear.

"Shut up!" Red's screech bounced around the cellar, eliciting growls from the others who had been on the verge of sleep.

But this didn't faze Padraic; yes he could go by Padraic now. He was too full of emotion to give Red a second thought.

"I am Padraic James Ratigan." He repeated it over and over until he fell asleep with a smile (one of his first) upon his lips.

* * *

For three years life continued on as normal, for most people. Even Padraic found a sort of groove in his life. Sure he was still beaten by the now much larger Scratch and Biter, as well as all the others, but he could take it. He knew he smarter than them, and that kept him as happy as a lark.

But then it happened. Death is a strange thing. Sometimes it can take those closest to you. Often it takes perfect strangers. And sometimes it has a keen way of taking a person who happens to be a very important part of your life, whether you realize it or not.

The Mouse Mistress was found lying in her bed, cold as stone one morning in early October. Cookie shook her head sadly. Josie sobbed dryly. The mouse children were in shock; even someone as seemingly untouchable as the Mistress had felt the brush of Death.

The only ones who weren't aware of the goings on were the rats; all they knew was that they were denied a meal that night. Except for Runt. He had a feeling something much bigger was going on.

And sadly he was right. The next the door to the cellar burst open, letting a harsh stream of light pour in. As the basement dwellers shielded their eyes, trying to adjust to the brightness, several large adult mice clomped down the stairs.

When they reached the floor, they all nodded to one another in agreement. Then they set about their assignment: removing the rats.

It was horrible. Even though they had treated him like less than garbage, Padraic would never forget the horror he'd felt as he watched…

Scratch and Biter, friends through the thick of it, fought the mice tooth and claw before being forcefully knocked unconscious and dragged away.

Gus, Nettie, and Itchy tried to run but were quickly scooped up in bags by other mouse workers. They threw a net over Rusty and dragged him upstairs.

Red, desperate not to be caught, ran to his runt's corner and hid. Padraic trembled next to him, knowing they were next. The mouse worker's came back one last time. He tried his best to fight and even managed to bite and draw blood from one of their arms, but it was no use. He was crammed into a burlap sack and hauled up the steps.

Upstairs, Padraic felt a sudden rush as outside wind hit the bag he was in. To think his first time leaving the orphanage was like this… Around him he heard screams. Itchy had lost his glasses and was now blind. Gus and Nettie were shouting, trying to reach other while Red sobbed for his brother.

Padraic covered his ears, but not his eyes. He found a whole in the sack and looked out. Mouse children were staring at the sight with unmasked fascination. Cookie was watching, looking very satisfied with herself. And there was Josie…sweet, sweet Josie. She was wrinkling her nose at the sight. Maybe she would say something. End the horrible scene. Maybe…

But when Josie spoke she didn't yell for the workers to halt. She whined to Cookie, "I have to clean out the basement, don't I?"

It wasn't until he was taken from the sack and had been hurled inside a what seemed to be a metal box that Padraic realized he'd lost his storybook, the scrap of paper with his name on it tucked inside.

* * *

It was easily the longest night of his life. Around him there was all matter of groaning and crying and shouts of complaint whenever the wagon went over a bump.

When they finally stopped it was early morning he heard a shout: "London!" Then silence.

London? He'd heard of it. Everyone had. There was supposed to be some form of business here. Perhaps this wouldn't be so bad. If only Padraic had the chance-

The back doors opened and he squinted in the light of dawn. Two huge arms reached in, fished him out, and threw him on a curb. Another mouse stood by with a whip and shouted, "GET IN THERE!"

Padraic looked around and saw some steps leading into a cellar. A second cellar? He'd been moved to London to be put in another cellar?

Before he could argue the point he felt the sting of the whip against his back legs and ran down into the darkness. Padraic looked around. He saw rats; so many rats. Sweating and slaving around a forge fire. Gathering metal, throwing in it a giant, hot pot, and once it was melted, letting it pour into molds. The molds were shoved aside and allowed to cool into rodent sized buttons and sewing needles. In rooms beyond this one, scraps of clothing were being dug through to make clothes.

While Padraic was trying to figure out what was going on, he was shoved in a corner by yet another attendant and was soon joined by many other rats of all different sizes and fur colors. Once everyone was unloaded, the largest of the attendants stood before them and said:

"Welcome to the factory. You lot had best get comfortable. Ye'll be here for quite a while."

And with that they were sorted. Some were sent to sort cloth scraps, others would man the forge and handle the hot metal. Padraic was shoved into a chair at a long table where at least twenty others were sitting. A box of tarnished needles was dumped in front of him.

"Get to polishin'," a veteran rat worker spat. "Before they put the whip to ye."

Padraic looked to see that each mouse had a whip. He gulped, grabbed a nearby cloth and rubbed the needles, pricking himself several times. As he did so tears silently slipped down his cheeks, and not just because of the pain. Everything was happening so fast. None of the rats he was familiar with were here. Josie…had hated him. All of them. And now he was alone, stuck at a confusing job he didn't know how to perform.

With every stroke of the needles, he felt more of his hope slip away. Padraic James Ratigan wasn't meant for greatness. He was a sweat shop worker.


	4. The Deal

"Hey you!"

Padraic looked up from his work station. It was only ten o'clock and already he was exhausted. Even though he'd been there for roughly a year or so, he was still considered to be a fairly new worker; and because he was a new, as well as much smaller than most of his coworkers, he was often used as a runner, having to work as an assistant to those who outranked him. At last count his superiors included everyone except those sitting next to him on the work bench.

"Get over 'ere!"

He obeyed and ran over to the Floor Manager. He did not look the man in the eyes, instead choosing to keep a close watch of the whip in his hand. It wasn't used often, only when the workers were really slacking off. But if the Manager happened to be in a bad mood- well it was best not to even think about it.

"Listen close, sod for brain," the tall mouse grumbled. "Take these-

He shoved three large boxes of needles and buttons into Padraic's arms.

"-upstairs to the main floor. Go on!" And with a gulp the young rat went on, moving towards the stairs as quickly as he could while juggling the boxes.

The cellar, where Padraic worked, was for the making of buttons, pins, and needles. The ground floor was where everything was sorted; some was to be sold and some went to the second floor. Though Padraic was yet to visit the second floor, it was where rows and rows of sewing machines were busily running from sun up to sun down, operated by mice. Then there was the third floor: The Office. No one went up there except for the rarely seen factory owner. Padraic had heard rumors that anyone who fell behind or messed up was sent there, never to return. He didn't believe it of course, but one could never be too careful.

He made it to the top of the steps and staggered forward, waiting for someone to come along and take the boxes. Finally a worker came over and relieved him of the weight.

"Well," the worker, a tall broad shouldered rat, said. "What are you waiting for, huh? A medal? Get back downst-!"

"Hey, Tony?"

"What?" the tall rat turned to glare at the person who'd called to him.

"We got stuff that needs to go back," the other rat shouted across the room. "I swear they're making nothing but junk down there."

"Alright, give me moment." The rat called Tony looked back at Padraic. "Stay here. You'll be the one to tell 'em they need to work harder."

Padraic gulped. Considering how much slaving the cellar rats already did, delivering this message would be nothing short of insulting. And no one around here was above shooting the messenger. But because he'd been given an order, he'd have to follow through. So he stood and waited for the rats to give him the load to take downstairs.

While he waited he let his eyes wander. This floor was full of boxes, scraps of fabric, and cranky rats and mice. He dutifully read the various signs along the walls, and peered at the writing on the boxes. The young rat examined the entire room until he spied the stair case across from him.

Coincidentally, someone happened to be using the stairs at that very moment. A young girl of about six, maybe older came down from the second floor and nervously looked around. She stood perfectly still until a grungy looking mouse stomped over to her and grumbled, "What ya want?"

"They need more buttons, sir." She spoke quietly, for she was obviously a bit shy, and her accent caused her to pronounce the word 'sir' as 'suh'.

"More?" the man thundered. "We just sent some up!"

The girl's knees began to wobble a bit but she managed to reply, "I know; but they ran out and-."

"Always running out, they are!" The mouse turned around and walked away, ranting and throwing his arms in the air. "'More buttons, more needles!' The bloody ingrates!"

"Aw, shut up Luther," someone else called. "No one wants to hear it!"

Luther continued to grumble, but called to Tony, "The morons need more buttons!"

"I'm busy here!" Tony shouted, still trying to gather up the defective objects to be taken back.

"'Course you are! We're all busy! We can't be worrying about them! You!"

Here Luther pointed a long, filthy nail across the room at Padraic. "Grab up a box and give it to the girlie so she can be out of our hairs!"

The boy checked to see that Tony was busy enough not to come after him before following his new set of instructions. He grabbed a stray box and raced across the floor, dodging various people, heading for the girl. As he got closer he slowed down until he came to a halt several steps away.

She was a bit tall for a mouse her age and very thin. Her overall appearance was grubby, with smudges dotting her shoes, dress, and face. If she was a bit cleaner her fur would have been white (which was a bit odd, considering that white fur was usually boasted in high society families). A wild mass of black curls was kept at bay by a lone ribbon that might have been pink once. But the thing that brought Padraic to a halt, was that when she'd seen him coming up to her, she had done a very strange thing: she turned her head and started _staring_ at him. Her green eyes made it very haunting, and the poor boy felt horribly self conscious.

"H-here," he stammered and held the box out.

She gratefully accepted the package, taking it and holding it close so as not to drop it. And then this strange little girl got just a bit stranger. The corners of her turned up, revealing a few crooked front teeth, and her eyes flashed even brighter.

She was…_smiling_ at him? But why? Had he done something amusing? Was she about to hurl a witty insult at him? Or- Oh no… Not that!

"Please don't spit on me!" he begged.

Her smile slipped into a frown of confusion. "What?"

"Don't spit! Please don't! I know you people think it's funny, but it's really not!"

The girl's eyebrows crinkled in bewilderment. "Why would I spit on you?"

It was his turn to be puzzled. "B-because…Because I'm a rat."

"And I'm a mouse."

"Well, yes, but-."

This circling conversation was interrupted by a shout from above. "INSPECTION!"

Chaos broke out in an instant. Padraic heard people rushing about both upstairs and down, and the people of the first floor were no exception. They ran around, letting out cries of panic.

"What's Inspection?" the girl asked, suddenly frightened.

"I don't know," Padraic said.

"It means you need to get upstairs," said a woman who had just appeared at the top of the steps.

"Yes ma'am! I'm coming."

The girl started to go up, but she and Padraic were knocked to the floor by a group of panicked mice coming down. The box of buttons flew out of her hands and was crushed under a large rat's foot. The girl sat up, a bit dazed and gasped at the sight of the ruined box and the buttons scattered about.

"Pick those up," the woman called, "And be quick about it!" The woman rushed back up and out of sight.

The mouse girl, breathing quick, crawled over to the scattered buttons and started scooping them up, using her dress as a makeshift pouch. She looked back at the boy. "Help me! Please, help me!"

Padraic looked about. Tony, Luther, and the others were hurrying about and didn't seem to notice him. So he obliged and helped the strange girl pick up the copper buttons. When they'd finished she gave him a rushed, "Thanks!" before running upstairs. She ran so fast he didn't have time to give her one last button that rolled beneath a chair. He looked at it, shrugged, and pocketed the little metal prize.

While the fuss began to die down a bit, Padraic remembered what Tony had wanted, and ran over to get the collection of faulty pins and needles. He took them downstairs, gave them to the manager who was too busy to listen to why the boxes had come back, and ran over to stand next to his fellow workers.

It turned out that Inspection was an action defined as: the owner of the factory, a Mr. Acker, stopping work completely in order to walk around and stare disapprovingly at everyone and everything. Padraic watched as he strode about the cellar, hands behind his back, refusing to speak to or acknowledge the floor managers.

Acker walked down the line of workers, glaring at them all. Each one would either look straight ahead or at the floor as he walked by. Padraic noticed a bit of a smirk curling underneath his thick mustache. This angered him greatly. The young boy shook his head slightly; this man seemed to be under the delusion that he was a king and the laborers were his subjects.

Finally the man reached the end of the line, where Padraic stood. Acker looked down his long nose at the boy. The rat stared straight back, stone faced. This went on for a moment or so. Then Acker looked away. Padraic grinned a little; he'd won.

After Inspection, work continued for hours until finally the managers called for a stop. Padraic stretched and yawned before stumbling into the back room with the others. Those that didn't have homes slept here in make shift bunks. He shared a bed with five others, close to a window.

He rolled his sleeping bedmates aside and hopped onto dirty mattress. With a yawn he rolled over on his side and tried to fall asleep. It was still early, but staying up late wasn't an option when you were this tired.

Padraic was nearing slumber when a small tapping noise put a dent in the silence. He squirmed and tried to ignore it, but the tapping persisted until he finally opened his eyes and looked around.

There, at the window, was the strange girl. She was looking straight at him with her haunting green eyes. He started at the sight and for a moment the two sat there, staring at one another. Finally he got out of bed as slowly as possible and tip toed over to the wall. The rat carefully climbed on top of a barrel and pushed the window open.

"What are you doing?" he asked her, looking around. She was crouching in the alleyway, alone. The other mice, even the managers, were already long gone. In the dark she whispered to him, "I need your help."

"Help?" he asked. "What are you talking about?"

"Let me in so we can talk."

"Um, okay…"

He pushed the window open and she crawled through easily. The girl tumbled to the floor, landing on her rear, and looked up at him expectantly. He jumped down and crouched in front of her. "What's going on?"

"That Mr. Acker stole something from me! I need your help getting it back."

By this point Padraic was on the verge of going back to bed he was so lost. Why was she asking him for help? They'd barely met earlier; he didn't even know her name! But as he squatted there, peering at the strange girl, he saw in her eyes that, for whatever reason, she trusted him to assist her. No one had ever put faith in him before…

He sighed and looked down at his feet. "Alright, but, I don't know how I can- AH!"

Padraic's squeak of surprise came when she grabbed his hand and dragged him toward the door. She gave him a whispered cry of "Come on!" and promptly dragged him through the door, across the cellar work room, up the stairs, across the first floor, and up another flight of stairs to the second floor. Here he dug his heels into the floor to stop her from pulling him further. She stopped and released his hand, and the boy gasped for air.

"How do you move that fast?" he wheezed.

She shrugged. "Just do. Now come on! His office is right up there." The girl pointed towards a third set of stairs that obviously led to the third floor and, as she said, Acker's office.

"Alright but *wheeze* what exactly are we looking for?"

"Huh?"

"What'd he steal?"

"Oh, that… Tell you when we get there." And on that note she dragged him up the last flight.

As they reached the landing a door loomed in front of the two. They shared a look. Padraic performed his first act of help by reaching out and slowly opening the door to peer in. What he saw made his jaw drop.

It looked nothing like a factory owner's business quarters. It instead resembled a lavish study, with a large oak desk, a plush, high back chair, and full shelf of books on the wall. The dark outside cast the room in shadow, but in the daytime this room must have looked brighter and cheerier than anything Padraic had ever known.

The girl walked in nonchalantly, and he followed. While she started rifling through Acker's desk drawers, Padraic stood in front of the bookshelf, practically salivating at he read all of the different titles. He hadn't read an actual book besides Josie's book of stories, which was now lost to him. Maybe he could just…

"Found it!" the girl said triumphantly. Padraic jumped at her voice and whipped around to see her proudly holding up her hair ribbon, which he now noticed had been replaced by a thick piece of string. He narrowed his eyes.

"That? You got me out of bed and dragged me up here for _a stupid ribbon?_"

"It's not stupid," she spat back, stomping her foot. "Besides, he shouldn't have taken it! I was just minding my own business and he walked up and plucked it out of my hair!"

Padraic was now seething. "What do I care? It's none of my business what happens. And why in blazes did you need me anyway? You could have done all this yourself!"

"I know," she said. She looked at the floor, suddenly very meek. "I just didn't want to do it alone."

"Oh." He didn't know what else to say. "Well, why me then?"

She shrugged and rocked back and forth on her feet. "Because, no one else likes me."

His eyes widened. He was about to come up with a response when they both heard a horrible noise: footsteps.

With the same mind they hid beneath the desk, hugging their knees. The two sat back to back, listening.

It was Acker. He'd been halfway home when he realized he'd forgotten some paperwork. Rather than worry about the problem tomorrow, he'd decided to go back and work on it for however long it took.

The two young rodents winced as the man sat in his chair and scooted in. He wasn't leaving for a while. The girl in particular panicked; she turned her head slightly and whispered in Padraic's ear, _"My mum's waiting for me."_

He understood. She needed to leave; they both did. But how? Then he got an idea.

Acker was jotting down notes when he heard a strange clattering noise on the stairs. "What the devil?" he asked himself. He rose and went to the door to inspect the issue. While his back was turned, the two children crawled from their hiding place and crept behind the open door, where they wouldn't be seen (well, the girl did; Padraic made his way after stopping at the bookshelf first).

When he didn't see anything unusual, Acker gave a great, "Humph," and went back to his desk. He was about to sit when he spotted a piece of string on the floor. He bent to pick it up, and the two hidden rodents took this time to sneak out. They went quietly down the stairs and across the second floor, and promptly went at breakneck speed through the rest of the building to the cellar.

Once there they crept into the sleeping quarters and to the window. The pair crawled up and outside into the cool night air.

"That was so scary," the girl said. "But I'm glad I got this back." Once the string had fallen out of her hair, her curls had sprung out in every direction. She used the recaptured ribbon to tie them back once more and gave the rat boy a crooked toothed grin.

Padraic nodded and pulled out his new book. It didn't have a title on the cover, but that didn't matter of course. The girl knit her eyebrows at the sight of the volume. "Why'd you take that?"

"To read it."

"You can read?"

"Yes. Quite well, actually."

"Wow," she said. She neglected to mention that most adults claimed rats were too ignorant to even learn how to talk. "Do you think you could teach me?"

He thought about it. On the one hand this girl was fairly nice. On the other, she'd nearly gotten him into more trouble than he cared to consider. "No," was his solemn reply.

She didn't seem fazed. "What do they feed you?"

"Feed me?"

"Yes. What sort of food do you get?"

He shrugged. "Gruel mostly. Sometimes bread crumbs and crackers."

She stuck her tongue out in disgust. "That sounds awful." She reached in her dress pocket and grabbed something. "I'll make you a deal." She pulled her hand out to display a somewhat cold, but still quite tasty looking biscuit. "Teach me to read, and I'll bring you food from home."

Now that was different. "Alright," he agreed, snatching the biscuit and practically swallowing it whole, but not before enjoying the near fresh flavor. "But you have to hold up your end."

"I will. My mum's a cook. She always has plenty of food." She pulled on one of her curls. "Too bad she's not a seamstress. Then maybe I'd have lots of ribbons."

"Delia!"

The girl turned at the noise.

"Delia! Where are you?"

"That's my mum," she said, turning back around. "Meet me out here tomorrow after work. She comes by to get me, but she almost always late, so it won't be a problem. Bye!"

With that she started running down the alley. She stopped when she was almost to the street and turned to call, "My name is Delia, by the way! Delia Drake!"

"I'm Padraic James Ratigan!" he called in return.

"I'll see you tomorrow, Padraic James Ratigan!" she called, a happy laugh in her voice. She ran out of sight.

Padraic stood in the alley for a moment, enjoying the chill of the night air. He wore a wide smile. In his mind it was because someone had finally said his name out loud, and he liked the sound of it.

He would later realize that he was also smiling because he'd finally found a friend.


	5. Lessons and Learning

When he finally fell asleep that night, Padraic dreamt of food: steaming pots of soup, warm bread, hot apple pie… He woke up to find that he'd drooled all over the pillow in his sleep. His anticipation made work seem to last forever, and when the evening finally rolled around it was all he could do to lay in bed and wait for his fellow rats to go to sleep. But it wasn't long before he heard a chorus or grunts and snores coming from the others. Carefully, Padraic slid out of bed and pulled his new book out from beneath the floorboards. The rat boy climbed out the high window and into the alley. After making sure the window was still open enough that he wouldn't have to worry about being shut out, he settled down behind a rubbish bin to read.

The book was a thick novel, a bit long winded but still good considering it was all he had. He'd already made his way through the first chapter by the time Delia showed up.

"Sorry I'm late. I knocked over some stuff and they made me stay and clean it up."

"S'alright," he said without looking up.

"So," said she, "how do we start?"

He finally looked up at her. "We start with whatever you brought me to eat."

She huffed and pulled a sack out from behind her back. "I had to hide it, so it might be a little dusty, but—

Padraic grabbed the sack and ripped it open to find an apple, two biscuits, and thick slice of roast beef. He salivated and began stuffing his face.

"You're going to choke," she said, sitting next to him.

He forced himself to swallow and mumbled, "I'd rather choke than starve."

"Fair enough," she granted. "Now teach me to read!"

"Give me a bit," he grunted. Once he'd finished off most of the food he wiped his mouth, pulled the book over, and opened up for both of them to see. "Okay, do you see any words you know?"

"Uh… That one," she said and pointed.

"You recognize 'ink'?"

"Yeah," she said, apparently quite pleased with herself. "There's a big bottle of it upstairs on one of the shelves. I see it every day so I know it!"

Padraic stared at her. If she was immensely proud of being able to a read a simple three letter word, than he had a feeling teaching her was going to be harder than he'd assumed.

And it was. For weeks they worked, him pointing at words and telling her what they meant and her struggling to memorize them.

"And this one?"

"Um… con-...con-…"

"Content. The word is content. I told you just a moment ago!"

"A moment and twenty words ago, maybe…"

Weeks of cold but wholesome food. Weeks of bickering and exchanging jibes until one day she stood up, stomped her foot and said, "I quit!"

He shut the book and set it to the side. "Fine by me. You're hopeless."

Delia gritted her teeth and let out a quiet scream of frustration. "It's not fair! Why don't I get it? You can do it so why can't I?"

"I don't know. I thought mice were supposed to be smart. But all the ones I've met seem pretty stupid."

At his words Delia hung her head and sat down, hugging her knees. "It's not fair," she said again. But his time she didn't sound angry. She sounded…broken. The little mouse reached up and pulled the ribbon out of her hair, letting her thick curls fall forward and hide her face.

Padraic crossed his legs and leaned against the brick wall. "Why did you want to learn in the first place?"

She didn't answer right away. And when she did her voice was muffled. "Because I thought it would help give me a chance to…to show people that I'm not stupid like they think I am. Like you say I am."

"I never said _you_ were stupid," he explained, suddenly feeling a bit guilty.

"But you were thinking it," said Delia, and this time her voice came out in a whimper.

He rubbed the back of his neck, not sure what to do. Delia annoyed him quite a lot; she was both blunt and cheerful in a way that was hard for him to keep up. But she brought him food and he didn't want that to stop. Between the hard work he had to do and the regular meals he'd been able to gain a bit of muscle. Padraic was becoming less of a scrawny shrimp every day.

But how on earth was he supposed to teach her? Apparently the way he'd learned it didn't work…

Then it hit him. _He_ had learned it this way, not her. He'd known for a while that he was smarter than most rats. Now he realized that it didn't matter if you were a rat or a mouse. Intelligence didn't pick and choose between species. There could be dumb mice and smart rats, and he, Padraic James Ratigan, was a very smart rat.

And that didn't make Delia stupid. It just meant that she took longer to understand things, especially when her teacher wasn't really putting any effort into things.

He clenched his fist, angry with himself. If he lumped people together because they were similar, then he was no better than the mice that ran the factory. No better than Acker even. Padraic felt ashamed that he'd treated Delia as if she should have understood. Ashamed that he'd made her feel worse than she already did. He turned to see that she was facing him, a few tears rolling freely; tears that he had caused. The rat shook his head. There would be no more crying. He scooted closer to her and offered her his sweater sleeve to use as a handkerchief, which she accepted.

"I don't think you're stupid," he told her solemnly, as she blew her nose on the sleeve cuff. "It's just that you're inexperienced, and I'm smart enough that it's easy for me. I didn't realize I was going too fast. I can still teach you."

"Why bother? I can't understand, so what makes you think you can teach me?" she asked, sitting up straight and pushing her curls out of her eyes.

"I don't think I can teach you. I _know_ I can teach you."

"Well then, how do you know?"

"Because now, _I want to_."

And he did. That night he watched Delia leave, and then sat staring at the book. Puzzling out how he would do it. Finally he figured it out. The next day when she showed up and handed him his usual sack of vittles he took and put it aside for later.

"Sit down." She sat. "Now look at me." She looked.

Padraic swallowed; her green eyes still made him squirm, the way they glowed even in darkness. "I learned by listening," he finally said. "Now you need to learn by listening and looking. Watch me."

This time, instead of simply going through and pointing at random words and telling her what they were, he read straight through the book. When he started a word he placed his finger right below it and ran it along the letters as he carefully pronounced each syllable to her. He didn't take his finger off the word until he'd finished saying it and was ready start with a new word. And Delia dutifully leaned against him to see and hear every action.

"'The pair strolled through the park, the sun shining bright behind them.' Now you try."

She took the book slowly and placed her finger beneath the words the way he had. "The…pair…st-st-

"Stroll-

"STROLLED! Through-the-park-the-sun…SHINING…bright-behind-the m."

"Good. Now for the next line."

"How long is this book, again?"

"Including the title page, exactly 327 pages long."

"Oh joy."

It didn't happen in one night, but soon the two concepts of seeing a marking and it meaning something else connected in her mind and Delia was actually reading. She read aloud, often having to slow or stop to figure something out, but with his gentle nudging she was making progress. Padraic quit looking forward to food every night (though he of course didn't mind have mince meat pie on occasion) and instead waited for evening to come so that he could show her more. He knew so much and she was willing to listen and learn.

Soon he looked forward to simply seeing her. He found that she didn't scoff when he told her about all he wanted do in his life, the places he'd heard about and wanted to visit, all his thoughts about what it must be like to be rich, and that he wanted to be 'great' someday. She told him fantasies much like the fairy tales he'd grown up listening to in the orphanage cellar.

"And then a ferocious dragon appeared out of nowhere!"

"Where did he come from?"

"Nowhere."

"How can someone come from nowhere?"

"He's magic."

"Since when?"

"Since now."

"So he just now became magic? He wasn't born with it or something?"

"No."

"But-

"No more questions! Or the dragon will eat you!"

"…How-

"ROAR!"

Though she still confused him, he found it less annoying as he grew accustomed to her. Whenever her mind wandered he knew she wasn't ignoring him on purpose, she just had a hard time focusing, and he was able to regain her attention without being too rude.

"Hey, bee's brains! Look at the book, not the wall."

SMACK!

"…Lesson over," he mumbled through a sore jaw as she complained how his teeth had hurt her knuckles.

In a way, he realized one night as he crawled back through the window and climbed into bed, she was teaching him as well.

One night the two were just sitting in the alley, him finishing the last chapter of the book and her waiting for her mother to come when she asked, "Where are your parents?"

He hadn't been expecting this, yet he still wasn't startled. Delia asked odd questions at odd times, and this was no exception. "I don't know," he said.

"How can you not know?"

"I never met my parents."

"Are you an orphan?"

"I suppose so. I used to live in an orphanage."

"Oh," said she, reaching up to play with her frayed ribbon. "Well I have parents."

"I know. I've seen you're mum." He had; he'd just never come near her. Whenever Delia's mother came to fetch her daughter, Padraic always avoided being seen. This annoyed Delia because she'd already told her parents about him (she'd had to explain why she'd been hiding food in her apron ever day for two months), but he didn't want the attention.

However, sometimes he would watch from the shadows. Mrs. Drake, always seemed very tired, but still gave little Delia a smile when she met her, and the boy couldn't help but ponder what it must be like to have an adult to care for you, give you praise, smile and provide hugs.

Delia nodded and smiled, thinking about her mother. "I have a dad too. He works in a counting house."

Padraic raised an eyebrow. "I thought you said your mum was a cook."

"She is."

"Well, if both your parents have jobs, why are you working?"

She shrugged. "There's just not enough money coming in. I don't make much, but every little bit helps."

"How much do you get paid?

"Not enough," she sighed. "How much do you get?"

He was about to say, "Not even a penny," when they heard another voice, a strong, male voice, call out from very nearby, "Delia?"

She gasped, he eyes wide and happy. "Daddy!"

Faster than he'd ever seen her move, Padraic watched Delia run into the arms of a tall man with white fur and thick black curls. Quickly, he tried to back away behind a pile of crates, but the man had already spotted him.

"Who's over there, love?" he asked his daughter, putting her on the ground.

"That's Padraic. He's trying to hide, but he's not doing a very good job tonight."

Padraic groaned. She wasn't going to give him a choice this time, was she?

"Padraic, you say? So that's the boy who's been teaching you. Well, could you call him out? I'd like to meet your young professor."

"Okay." Padraic heard pit pat noises and saw Delia come up next to him, grinning. "He wants to see you."

He glared at her and she continued to smile. "Well come on then."

"No," he whispered.

"Oh, quit being shy!" She grabbed his hand and pulled him to his feet. "Don't worry," Delia said. "He's very nice." And now all Padraic could do was gulp and allow himself to be dragged into the open. He noticed straight away the look of surprise that crossed Mr. Drake's face, and shrank beneath the steady gaze that followed.

"Daddy, this is Padraic James Ratigan! He's a genius, and he's been teaching absolutely everything about books and stuff."

Padraic looked at his feet. He realized how ironic this was of course; he'd been able to stare down his own employer, but now he was squirming under this man's gaze. "Hello, sir."

"Hello," said Mr. Drake. "I'm glad we could finally meet. Delia told us that she'd been meeting with someone at night, though my wife can never seem to spot you.

"He always hides," Delia explained, "because he's just sort of shy around grown ups. But I told him you were nice, Daddy."

"I see," he said.

Mr. Drake's tone was even and Padraic stole a look at him. The man certainly didn't look like a lowly counting house worker. His fur was whiter than the fine ash that built up in the factory's fire place. His shiny black curls matched with a pair of deep blue eyes and a good, sturdy height, gave him a striking, noble appearance that Padraic dared to call handsome.

"Well then," Mr. Drake said in a rich, cultured voice, "I must be truly lucky to catch you tonight."

The rat boy flinched at the word 'catch'. As if he himself had been caught. As if both he and Delia had been caught doing something very, very wrong.

Delia brought him back from his nervous thoughts. "What are you doing here, Daddy? I'm happy, but I thought you had to work late tonight."

Mr. Drake's jaw tightened a bit and to Padraic he suddenly seemed very nervous. Good; that made two of them.

"Well, my employer was kind enough to let me off a bit early today. And tomorrow I don't have to even show up."

"Oh, yay! Sunday is my day off too," Delia said, jumping up and down happily. Padraic grimaced, for it was obvious to him that Drake's boss hadn't given him a day off out of kindness.

"Yes, I know dear. Your mother won't be home for a while tonight, so I thought I'd come by and take you home myself. Why don't you start in that direction now and I'll meet you in a moment; I want to have a word with your _friend_."

Friend? Was that what they were: friends? Padraic had never though to put a label on it, and Delia was waving goodbye and running off before could ask. Now he was alone with Drake, unsure of what to expect.

"So," Drake broke the silence, "your name is Padraic?"

"Yes sir. Padraic James Ratigan."

"And just where do you live, Padraic James Ratigan?"

"In the basement of the factory, with all the other rats," he said carefully. He felt like this was some sort of test, but the real questions weren't clear and the correct answers were unknown to him.

"I see," Drake said, folding his hands behind his back. "And how is it that you and Delia managed to meet? From what I understand the factory keeps a very tight schedule."

Padraic licked his lips, and said, "They do. Delia and I met when I had to deliver some boxes upstairs. Then later she asked me to help her get a ribbon that she'd lost." He deliberately left out the part about sneaking into Acker's office; somehow that didn't seem like the right kind of story to tell someone you were trying to please.

"And why," Drake began, voicing the question the rat had thought over many times, "did she ask help from you?"

The question was met with silence. Then: "She said it was because no one else likes her."

One could have heard a pin drop on that cold, damp night in the alley. Neither man nor boy, mouse nor rat spoke for several moments. Finally, Mr. Drake spoke his thought, calmly and plainly.

"Young man, my daughter was not born lucky. At one time I would have been able to give her anything she asked for, anything at all. But now, I am a poor man, so poor that I'm forced to ask my wife and child to help support our home. It's been a long time since Delia has been able to simply act like a child, and even longer since I've heard her call anyone a friend. We live in a world where true friends are truly scarce."

The boy looked up and met Drake's deep blue eyes.

"No, my daughter wasn't born lucky-

Padraic watched as the mouse extended his arm towards him, and instinctively flinched, waiting for the blow to land. But surprise filled him when Drake didn't hit him, but instead placed a hand on his shoulder.

-but she's lucky to have you. A kind, compassionate person who understands what it's like to live through hardships. For the past few months Delia's been smile has gotten brighter than it's been in a long time."

The tall man offered his hand to Padraic, who didn't quite understand the gesture at first. Then he realized, and with awe, he reached and grasped the hand and watched as Drake moved it up and down a few times.

"Thank you, Padraic James Ratigan."

Padraic forced himself to swallow as strange, foreign emotions washed over him. "The pleasure is all mine, sir," he whispered. "Delia's the first friend I've ever had."

"Then it seems you both have good fortune as of late," Drake said, finally breaking into a friendly smile, which the boy did his best to return; he wasn't much of a smiler, after all.

"Daddy!"

The pair looked up the alley and saw Delia's small silhouette standing in dim lamp light. "Aren't you coming?" she called.

"I'll be right there love," he said, releasing his grip on the boy's hand. Padraic let his arm fall to his side, not sure what to say.

"Well, I'm glad we had this talk," said Drake. "I just wanted you to know where I stand." With that he started his way down the alley to meet his daughter. "By the way," he called over his shoulder, "enough of this 'sir' nonsense. Call me Mr. Drake."

"Mr. Drake?"

He stopped and turned to look back. "Yes?"

"Sorry about your job."

"Think nothing of it. I had it for five years; it was about time I started looking around. Goodnight to you."

"Goodnight to you as well," Padraic said. "_Goodnight to you too Delia_!" he shouted down the way.

"Goodnight!" she called running ahead once more as her father wandered close behind, a jolly spring in his step.

That night the boy lay in his bed, crammed between a few other rats, staring at the ceiling. Part of him felt happy; after all he had a friend now, two if he was lucky. But another part was thinking back to what Delia had asked him.

"_Where are your parents?"_

Where _were_ his parents? Had they died? Or had something else caused him to be left at the orphanage? All of the orphans had had stories about what had happened for them to be landed in the cellar. For Itchy it was a fire, Scratch's father had been a drunkard who fell off a boat one day while plastered, Rusty and Red's mother had been a whore, and so on.

But him? Nothing. No one knew where he'd come from. He'd been left on the steps, and placed in the cellar the next day. He was labeled Runt until the day he'd been able to read his scrap of paper. Now he was Padraic James Ratigan, a boy with a name and no past.

_It all sounds so tragic when you say it like that_ he thought. _But my life isn't so bad. I think._

He looked at the hand that Drake had shaken and his smile returned. He clenched the hand into a fist.

_Yeah. Not so bad. _

* * *

**A few things: to those who have read this far, THANK YOU. You don't know how much it means for people to read my stuff. I apologize to those of you who like author's notes (though I doubt that many people do) for not having said anything until now.**

**That said: I do not own Ratigan or Great Mouse Detective. He belongs to Eve Titus and Disney (obviously). **

**With that disclaimer firmly in place, I invite those who are reading this to leave a review. I don't care about the amount of reviews; I like knowing what people think and feel while reading what I write, and I'm open to any form of criticism. So, R/R, if you please, and thank you for coming this far. **


	6. The Joys of Christmas

_**!WARNING!** The following chappter is freakishly long. Before you proceed, please first grab a snack to ensure that you will not starve while trying to get through it. Thank you._

* * *

The weeks went by and the days grew cold and the nights colder still. When he and Delia sat outside the two would blow warm clouds of breath into the air, and watch the white puffs billow and then vanish.

"Why does it get cold during winter?"

"I think it's because of the way the sun moves," he told her. "Hey, look," Padraic drew her attention as he placed his middle and index finger against his lips. He pulled them away and blew out, creating the illusion that he was smoking. Delia giggled and imitated him.

"So what are you doing tomorrow?" she asked him after a while.

"What sort of question is that? I'm working of course."

"Well, yes, but what about when you get off?"

"Sleeping."

"Sleeping? Sleeping! How can you sleep? Tomorrow's Christmas Eve!"

"Christmas Eve?"

Her eyes widened and her mouth opened into a large round O. "You don't know what Christmas is?"

"No, I know what it is," he said. And indeed he did. He knew that every year, when it got colder, the orphans upstairs would sing off key versions of merry songs and drink warm cider and whatever treats had been sent from local shops. The rats were sometimes lucky enough to get leftovers; Padraic could distinctly remember once tasting something that would later identify as ginger bread. It was the most delicious thing ever to enter his mouth.

"I just don't understand why we would be getting off early."

"To celebrate!" she cried out, jumping to her feet. Padraic fell back onto his elbows in surprise. "Christmas is a great day, but Christmas Eve is even better! That's when everyone's getting ready, decorating, making food, buying presents! Even people who don't celebrate it are still getting together around this time for other holidays or just see each other. It's the day when everyone is supposed to be happy!"

"Well," he said, standing up and brushing himself off, "that sounds lovely. I hope you enjoy yourself."

He watched as she put her hands on her microscopic hips and stamped her foot at him. "And just what do you mean by that?"

"I-

"You, Padraic James Ratigan, will be spending all of tomorrow after work and all of Christmas with me."

His eyebrows raised and then lowered in a glare. "Since when?"

"Since now. You taught me to read and now I'll teach you to have fun and celebrate and be merry if it's the last thing I do!"

With that she whirled around and stomped away down the alley, her head level, back straight, and jaw set. She was determined, and when Delia Drake got determined people were well to stay out of her way.

Padraic watched her go, sagging stockings, faded dress, curls beginning to fall loose. She was such a scruffy, scrappy girl. He looked down at the gray sweater stretched tight across his ribs, his pant legs rising a bit above his ankles, his socks full of holes. He shook his head. The two of them were quite a pair.

He smiled to himself. Yes, they were a pair to be sure. And he couldn't wait to see what was in store for him tomorrow.

He didn't have to wait long, for on the following day, at noon on the dot, Delia arrived in the lower floor of the factory and claimed that they needed a small rat to perform a big job for the seamstresses upstairs.

"Fine, fine," the floor manager said with a bored wave of his hand. "Pick one and be off."

Padraic watched with hidden amusement as Delia strolled down the line of polishers, seemingly studying each one closely before finally pointing to him and loudly demanding that he follow her upstairs.

"Keep up the pace, you lazy bum," she projected as the two climbed the stairs up to the sewing room.

"What are you doing?" he whispered to her.

"Just wait and see."

They came to the floor where Delia worked and Padraic was swiftly pounced on by a middle aged woman whose teeth were severely bucked.

"What are you looking about at? Get over there and move those crates you worm!"

He grimaced at the sound of her reedy voice and went to do as he was told. There were several crates filled with cloth that needed to be properly stacked. They didn't seem heavy to him, but apparently the head seamstress was too busy yelling her workers to do it herself.

"Faster! If you slugs want the rest of today and tomorrow off, you're gonna have to earn it! Now work faster!"

The stacking didn't take long and Padraic hid in the corner once he'd completed his task. He watched the man rows of sewing machines as the needles zipped in and out of the fabric. Delia was working particularly fast, having gone back to her station, now working the pedals like an expert. But suddenly she gasped and snatched her hand back, sucking on one of her fingers. Padraic's eyes widened with concern, but before he could do anything Delia was already back to pushing the fabric underneath the needle.

After an hour the sewers were finally called to quit for the day and everyone was given a small handful of coins as their week's pay. Padraic observed Delia accepting her pay gingerly and snuck through the crowd to meet her.

"Now what?"

"Now I sneak you out."

Moving carefully through the small mob of exiting workers, Delia managed to smuggle him out into the frigid air of the wintry London streets.

"See? You're out!"

"Wait, so I'm supposed to just leave work," he asked in astonishment.

"Yes. We're going to spend the afternoon having fun and then go to my house for supper. Understand?"

"But… What if they notice I'm gone?"

"Do you really think they'll notice if they're missing one rat?"

He sighed, realizing that no, he wouldn't be missed by anyone. "Okay, I see your point. But what are we going to do now?"

"I told you, have fun! We're going to do all sorts of winter things. Winter's my favorite season and today I'm going to show you why.

"Now come on," she said and whirled around to face the open street. "Follow me and we'll have great fun and many larks."

With that she began marching down the sidewalk and he had no choice but to shrug and follow her. As he walked he looked around him. This was the first time he'd ever gotten the opportunity to really wander around the city he called home. There were humans and rodents alike rushing around, carrying packages, shouting to one another, and making a general hubbub.

"It's so big," he said when he finally managed to keep pace with Delia. He was a head taller and much stronger, but she was still faster than him.

She nodded, smiling. "I know! Isn't it wonderful?"

"Wonderful?" It wasn't the word he would have used. Adjectives like crowded, cramped, and filthy seemed more appropriate. But, nonetheless, the dull roar that all the hustle and bustle created did make a sort of rhythm in the air. And anything was nicer than the basements and back alleys that he was used to.

Before long they reached the end of the sidewalk and Delia grabbed his hand, causing him to flush with discomfort. After being hit so often, physical contact wasn't always welcome and often made him squirm. But the girl kept a tight grip as she looked across the street at the many horses, carriages, and humans passing by.

"Wait a minute…and…run now!"

His arm, not for the first time, was nearly ripped from his torso and Delia ran full speed into the street trailing him behind.

"AUGH!" Padraic screamed as a horse's hoof nearly took off his head. He continued to shout and panic as she wove them through the complicated maze of legs, hooves, and wheels.

"ARE YOU MAD?" he bellowed when they finally reached the other side and collapsed from the exhaustion that near death experiences tend to bring. "We could've been killed!"

"That's just the way city life is," she said simply, "you have to run everywhere or else you'll get stepped on.

"Besides," she continued, "look where we are."

When he'd finished catching his breath, Padraic finally looked up and viewed a wide space completely devoid of bricks and buildings and was instead filled with what he identified as trees and bushes. Everything was covered in a fine layer of white snow and he could just make out the sound of people, children, laughing.

"What is it?"

"A park," Delia said and before he could continue questioning her she was already slogging her way through the snow that rose to her chest. Padraic now noticed that she was a wearing a pair of worn boots and looked down at his already near ruined shoes. They weren't going to provide much protection from this kind of cold. With a sigh he followed her, wishing that he wasn't so poor that he couldn't even afford proper footwear.

Delia led the way through a knot of trees and past a few bushes and into an open area that made a perfect, rodent-sized meadow. A mid-sized stream ran through on the opposite side, currently frozen and being used for ice skating. There were dozens of children skating, constructing snow creatures, hurling balls of snow, and chasing one another. And every last child, old and young, was a mouse.

Padraic gulped and began to creep back into the shadows, suddenly wishing he hadn't left the warm confines of the shop. At the sound of his movement Delia looked back at him.

"Where are you going?"

"Back. I…I don't really belong here…"

"What do you mean?"

He grunted, frustrated at her lack of understanding. "Why can't you realize that people, mice in particular, don't like me?"

"I like you," she mumbled.

"Well, that's different," he said.

"My dad likes you."

"Yes, well-

"How do you know that the others will hate you? You haven't even given them a chance."

He looked at his feet. "No one ever gives me a chance."

"Then you know how it feels," she said while turning around. "Please just come out. You spend most of your time hiding. You don't have to talk to anyone. Just come out of the bushes and play with me."

Padraic breathed in slowly, trying to build up his courage. Delia had taken a risk sneaking him out and he didn't want it to go to waste. So before he could change his mind he ran out of the bushes and stood in the middle of the clearing.

Delia stood there grinning with her crooked teeth. "I knew I'd get you out!"

"Well, you have to be right some of the time."

She chuckled at his teasing and led him over to the stream. Padraic admired the way the mice's skates cut neatly through the ice allowing them to glide across the frozen water. It looked fairly easy.

"Here, I'll get some for us," Delia told him before she walked over to a group of boys who were slipping out of their skates and into some boots.

"Can my friend and I borrow those?" she asked.

The two boys glanced at one another, then at her, and then to the rat boy who was standing a little ways back.

"Awful big, ain't he?"

"Yeah, he is," Delia replied.

"Is he a rat?"

"Yes."

Padraic squirmed under the boys' curious stares. With their boots on the two got up, their skates slung over their shoulders, and walked up to him.

"Hallo," one said.

"Hallo," he said in return.

"I never seen a real rat before," said the other boy.

"We don't come out much during the day," Padraic muttered, still not meeting their eyes.

"Christ," said the first one, "but you're big!"

The rat boy shrugged, wishing he could leave. "Not really. I'm smaller than most. People used to call me a runt."

"Well you ain't a runt 'ere," the second mouse said. "You can be sure of that."

"He's not just big," said Delia, coming up beside her friend. "He's strong too! He can lift me over his head!"

"No way!" "I don't believe it!"

"Show them," she instructed and Padraic gawked at her. He wasn't a heavy lifter; he could barely move some of the heavier tools back at the factory. Why was she making things up? But her expression was insistent and he had no choice but to put his hands on her waist and try to lift her. To his surprise she rose in the air and he really was capable of holding her above his head, to the awe of the mice boys.

"That's amazing," they exclaimed as one.

Padraic set Delia down lightly and as soon as she was on the ground she was back to boasting. "That's not all! Just look at his teeth!"

With a flourish she reached up and pried his jaws apart to reveal two rows of razor sharp incisors. The boys' eyes grew wide and they moved closer to get a better look.

"They're so large," the first boy cried.

"And they're so sharp," the second boy breathed.

"_And_ these are just his first teeth. Just you wait till he's older and he get his full grown ones!"

Delia finally took her hands out of his mouth and Padraic snapped his jaw shut. A few onlookers had come to join the pair of boys in their marveling of this strange new creature.

"Tell you what," one of the boys said, loud enough that everyone could hear. "We'll let you borrow our skates if you can do something for us."

"What?" Delia asked for her friend, raising her eyebrow in suspicion.

The second boy picked up a large stick and held it out for Padraic to take. "We want to see if you can bite it in half!"

Delia's eyes widened. "Bite a stick?"

"In half?" Padraic questioned. How was he going to make sure the stick would break into perfectly equal pieces? He'd have to be careful. He was about to put it in his mouth when Delia grabbed the stick away.

"You don't have to do this," she said, looking concerned.

Padraic shook his head. "It's no problem." And with that he took the stick, placed it in his jaws, and clamped down causing the wood to splinter and break apart in his teeth, much to the delight of the crowd.

"That was great! I'm Tom by the way," the first boy said, offering his skates to Padraic.

"Jake," said the other, giving his skates to Delia. They were a bit big for her but she would manage.

Padraic was another matter. First there was the matter of getting him to take his shoes off, exposing his bare skin to the cold. Then there was trying to get the skates to fit around his huge feet. Luckily Tom and Jake helped shove the skates on while Delia helped Padraic maneuver his toes inside. When they were finally on and laced the poor boy felt like his feet were about to explode out of the footwear.

But he didn't have time to worry about that, for as soon as the skates were on Delia, along with Tom, Jake, and a few other children, was dragging him on to the ice.

"Just put one foot in front of the other," she said.

"And try not to fall," said Tom.

"But if you have to fall, try to land on your tail," said Jake.

Padraic gulped. "Alright then."

It took a few tries just to stay standing and then there was the problem of actually moving. But again the others helped him; Delia took his hand once again, and Tom took the other, and they moved slowly down the stream with Jake following closely behind. The other children were careful to give the four enough room to get around.

As he was being towed Padraic looked down to watch his feet. Or at least that was what it looked like. The truth was that he was hiding a smile; Delia had been right. There were some people who didn't hate him.

Finally Delia and Tom released him and Padraic found he was able to slowly slide across the ice. Delia skated in circles around him while cheering.

"I said you could do it!" she cried happily as she zipped by. Padraic admired how graceful she was on the ice. At first glance it seemed like her long limbs would get in the way, but instead she used them to her advantage, moving almost fluidly. Though of course even she wasn't immune to mistakes, as he found out when they crashed into each other.

"Oof," he grunted as his rear hit the ice. "Sorry."

"My fault," she said, shrugging it off. They helped each other get up and for a few moments they skated hand in hand. Delia broke off to go say hello to a group of girls and Padraic watched her go before he went to join the boys.

They played in the park for hours, and when Delia decided it was time to leave and go walking about town, they had a good sized group of tag a longs. Padraic's unique size and strength had allowed him to win skating races, foot races, and a snowball fight (which was particularly impressive considering what a large target he was. He also helped to fix a sled and make a quick patch for a boot. The young rat couldn't help but beam as he walked down the sidewalk, Delia at his side and several others trailing behind. He was popular!

Delia took him through the streets, showing him her favorite vendors and introducing him to all of the shopkeepers that delivered produce to the house where her mother was the cook.

"Where does your mother work," he asked her. The group had piled into a bakery to warm up for a moment, and the baker was kind enough to offer each of them a fresh roll.

"It's a little ways off," said Delia as she bit into the warm, fluffy bread. "I could take you there if you like."

"Would she mind?"

"Not if we just stay outside. Besides, there's someone I want to see there."

Once the rolls were finished off, Delia called the group to order. "Alright you lot! It's back to the streets! Follow me!"

After a round of nodding Delia opened the door and everyone plunged back into the frigid cold. Padraic had to stifle a laugh as he watched his friend shiver violently before getting used to the cold. Now she was marching down the street with her head held high and shoulders back, like she was a general and the others were her army. She took her troops through the streets of London to an area with rather posh houses.

"Alright," she called to the mob. "Clear off for a bit! We're getting into snob district and not everybody's welcome."

The children nodded, not really wanting to go into snob district whether they were welcome or not. Rumor was that every house on the area had at least one fat cat just waiting for intruders to show up. So they agreed to meet back at the street corner in an hour.

"Now," said Delia when she and Padraic were alone once more and heading down the row of fine houses. "The people my mum works for are high class but very nice. I used to go with her every day and they would let me have sweets and things. Also, I'm very good friends with-

Delia's talking was interrupted by the most high pitched squealing Padraic had ever had the displeasure of hearing. He plugged his ears with his fingers and looked around, painfully searching for the source of the hellish noise.

The only thing he could see was a bright blue blob standing a few meters away on the sidewalk. As the squealing continued the blob started to come closer until he realized that it was actually a young girl in a dyed fur coat, hat, and mittens running in his direction. Padraic swiftly ducked behind Delia in an attempt to evade the girl and her horrible screaming.

His fear was increased when the screaming girl crashed into Delia and proceeded to grip her tightly while jumping up and down. Fear switched to confusion when Delia embraced the girl and joined her in jumping about.

"I missed you _so _much!"

"No, I missed _you_ so much!"

Finally the two girls broke their embrace, giggling, and turned their attention on the horribly confused boy.

"Padraic," said a smiling Delia, "this is Charlotte Marie Weston. Charlotte this is Padraic James Ratigan."

"It's _so_ wonderful to _meet_ you!" the girl, Charlotte, cooed. Most of her was swallowed by her coat but what Padraic could see was ridiculously pretty. She had huge, clear blue eyes, thick eyelashes, fur that was soft and whiter than the surrounding snow, a cute little nose, and sweet little mouth that was beaming at him with perfect teeth.

"Um...I'm pleased to meet you too…," he said, though it felt more like a question than a statement. "Miss Weston, was it?"

"Oh, you can call me Charlotte. _Every_one does!" With that said she stepped forward and gave him a bone crushing hug. The uncomfortable pressure and the fact that she was touching him at all caused his cheeks to flush bright red, which she giggled at when she finally released him.

"Padraic is my friend from the factory," Delia told Charlotte. "He's very smart."

"Oh, I believe you! But let's not talk out here; the cold is lovely but we could freeze! Let's go inside." It was Charlotte's turn to take the lead apparently as she walked in front of Delia as they went to a bright blue house a few doors down from where Charlotte had initially assaulted them. She was first to walk through the gate as well as first to walk around to the back of the property and the first to go up a few steps into a warmly lit kitchen. Padraic followed, trying to keep up with what had just happened, and hesitantly walked into the kitchen.

All around there was food, from ham and turkey, to ginger bread and pound cake. The blend of scents was heavenly. No space was barren and Padraic's mind boggled at how much work had to have been put in to create this lavish feast. A red headed woman in an apron stood at the sink rinsing potatoes. At the sound of the children entering she turned to glance behind and broke into a pleasant smile at the sight of the black haired girl. Delia ran over to the woman, who promptly reached down and cupped her face in her hands.

"And just what are you doing here?" Mrs. Drake asked in a lightly accented voice.

"Visiting you," Delia said. "After all we wouldn't want you to get bored. It's not like you have any work to do."

The two chuckled and the woman pressed a kiss to her little daughter's forehead. Carol Drake had given Delia her long limbs as well as her brilliant green eyes. But, unlike Delia and her father, she had light brown fur that was freckled here and there. She looked incredibly tired, but happy as Delia introduced Padraic.

"I'm glad to finally meet you," she said, holding out her hand to shake. "My husband told me that you were a fine young boy; and I'd have to say that once again he's right."

Padraic blushed under her motherly gaze, and gave her hand a quick shake before pulling back. Once again his bashfulness was getting the better of him. Fortunately Delia was too busy alternating between talking to Charlotte to get on to him about it, and Mrs. Drake didn't seem to mind.

"Delia told me she was going to show you around town, but I didn't expect for her to bring you here," she said, turning back to the potatoes.

"Yes- I mean no ma'am. She didn't tell me either. I hope I'm not in the way of-

She cut him off, "Nonsense, dear boy. You're not in the way of anything. I can, and have, made five course meals while a small band, several waiters, and an ice sculpture were taking up space in here. I think I can deal with you, even if you are bit big.

"Speaking of which, what sort of food do you like? I need to know so that I have an idea of what to make tonight when you come over for supper. I get so busy here some days that I go home and I completely forget that I have my own family to feed."

Padraic rubbed the back of his neck, very uncomfortable. How was he supposed to say what he liked? He liked everything! And he certainly didn't want to sound demanding. "Uh, well… Just, whatever you have is fine…"

"Good; glad to hear it. I've never been too fond of picky eaters."

"_Well I don't really have the option of being picky, now do I?" _he thought privately. Padraic shook his head. There was no reason to be rude, even if it was in his head. Mrs. Drake was trying to be nice and he should accept it. Trying to distract himself, he turned his attention to the two young girls who were chattering away, having apparently forgotten there was anyone else in the room. By now Charlotte had removed her coat, revealing a thick head of blonde hair, neatly decorated with ribbons. She was easily the prettiest girl Padraic had ever had the chance to lay eyes on. Not that that made up for her _volume_ issues…

"Come upstairs and I'll show you my new doll," Charlotte cried, yanking Delia out of the room.

"_So that's where she gets it from," _Padraic thought.

As Charlotte led the way through the house and upstairs to her room, Delia couldn't help but look around enviously. Each object in each room was so familiar; the antique chairs in the parlor, the beautiful paintings lining the walls, the crystal goblets peeking out from their hiding places in the glass cabinets. Delia drew in a breath as she took it all in, the aching feeling of want about to consume her. And the worst was yet to come.

The two girls reached the top of the stairs and Charlotte opened the first door on the right. Behind the door was a four poster canopy bed covered in satin sheets and piled high with pillows. The thickest, most extraordinary rug had been saved for this room and was currently strewn with all manner of dolls, toys, and knick knacks. Charlotte tip toes through the wreckage to pick up and a sweet faced china doll which she brought over to show to her friend. Delia smiled and said it was beautiful and Charlotte nodded and promptly tossed the doll aside.

"Oh Delia," she chirped. "I'm ever so delighted that you could come see me! I have missed you so terribly much!"

"I know Lottie; you've told me already. Four times!"

"Oh, I know. It's just that I've been so _awfully_ lonely. There's no one _interesting _to talk to or play with." Charlotte puckered her lips into a pout. "Why did you have to quit coming to see me?"

Delia was absentmindedly pulling on a curl that had strayed from her own frayed ribbon. "It's not that I don't want to see you," she said, a bit of a sigh in her voice. "I'm just busy. I'm working now, and it takes up a lot of my time."

"But you shouldn't work! You should spend the days with _me_!"

The black haired girl closed her eyes and breathed slowly. "I'd like to. I really would. But I just can't right now."

"Oh, why do you have to be so _difficult?_" Charlotte whined, stamping her pretty little shoe on the floor. "I'm lonely! You're my friend, aren't you? Coming to see me every day is the _right_ thing to do!"

Delia opened her eyes and made herself focus on the opposite wall; she didn't want to look at her friend's perfect face right now. "My going to work is the _responsible_ thing to do, Charlotte." She forced herself to look at the blonde haired cherub who stood before her. "It's part of growing up."

"But you're not supposed to grow up! Not yet!" Now she was getting close to crying, true sorrow showing through the cloud of selfishness. "You're supposed to be having fun!"

"I do have fun…just not as much as I used to."

"When will things be back to normal?"

"They won't be, Lottie."

The two stood in silence for a few moments, unable to look at each other. Half a year ago they had been like sisters, always playing, laughing, and running around. Things like money hadn't mattered a few months ago. Now there was a wall between the two, and they could feel it. Delia had been delighted to see her friend after so long, but there was a certain truth she was now facing. Charlotte would always be her friend. But she could never dream to come close to the perfection this angel possessed.

And ache slowly forming in her chest, Delia excused herself and made the slow descent downstairs and to the kitchen to collect her friend. Charlotte stayed in her room, quietly picking up her things in an effort to distract herself.

Delia reached the kitchen and found Padraic testing out her mother's plum pudding. She smiled at how delighted he looked; it was so rare to see him genuinely happy. Knowing he was doing well instantly put her more at ease.

"We'd better go meet the others," she said as he finished licking his fingers.

"Did you have fun with Charlotte?" her mother questioned, one eyebrow slightly raised.

"Yes," Delia fibbed.

Her mother raised her eyebrow higher but didn't ask any questions, and instead told them to be careful and not to play outside for too long at a time. They promised to be at the Drake residence in time for supper and left Mrs. Drake to finish cooking. As usual, she would be working very late.

As she was following Padraic out the door, Delia turned when she heard the door to the kitchen swing open. Charlotte dashed in and squeezed her tightly. Delia squeezed back.

"Happy Christmas, Deli."

"Happy Christmas to you, Lottie."

Delia pulled away and followed her rat friend outside, but made sure to wave before she left the property.

Padraic whistled a cheery tune and was practically skipping as they made their way down the sidewalk. This was possibly the best day of his life; he had had the opportunity to go outside, been accepted and admired by a group of peers, given free bread, and had been doted on by a loving mother (who wasn't his, but still meant well). Delia forced a smile, not daring to ruin her friend's wonderful mood. He meant more to her than he would ever understand, and she couldn't imagine seeing him get hurt worse than he had in the past.

Unfortunately both children were about to be brought down to Earth. On the street corner where they had promised to meet up stood the children. The unfortunate part was that a small group of adults was with them. When they'd separated, most of the young ones had run home to warm up and had detailed their families about the strange boy they had met. It didn't take long for the parents to get an idea of what kind of child they were hearing about, and they had come to the street corner to see it for themselves.

Padraic ground to a halt and his whistle died in his throat at the sight of the grown mice standing in front of him. They were all looking at him, rage and indignation clear in their eyes. It was such a familiar look. Familiar, yet so very uninviting.

"What do they want?" Delia quietly wondered out loud.

She didn't have to wait for an answer. The adults walked forward, arranged in a single line, raking their way down the sidewalk, their children in tow. Padraic swallowed and licked his lips where a bit of pudding still lingered. This wasn't going to be pretty.

The line of mice halted about a meter away from the young boy and girl. The two moved closer together for comfort. After a brief moment of quiet, a female mouse with a deep, cold voice finally spoke up.

"This is the child you were playing with?" she asked. The question didn't seem to be directed at anyone particular so all of the young mice nodded fervently. "That's the one," a young girl said, pointing a finger in Padraic's direction.

"He's the one alright!"

With the answer she wanted, the woman stepped closer, breaking the line to bend over slightly and look into Padraic's eyes. For a moment they stood like that, locked in a stare. Padraic swallowed one more. He remembered having a similar staring contest with Mr. Acker and winning. For a moment he wondered who would win this time.

But only for a moment. His pondering was put to rest when the woman raised her hand and slapped him across the cheek. It surprise and force of the blow took him off guard and he fell sideways, taking Delia with him.

"Just as I thought! A filthy _rat_!"

Several gasps came up at the word. Apparently Tom and Jake had been the only ones to know what species of rodent they'd been spending time with. The other children had assumed their new friend was just one of nature's oddities, rather than a member of the species that they had all been raised to hate.

"Rat!"

"EW! He tagged me earlier! He _tagged _me!"

"We were playing with him all day!"

"Will we have fleas now?"

"I don't want fleas!"

Padraic, still on the ground, hid his face as he carefully wiped blood off his lip where the woman had popped him. Delia was picking herself up when a large man, a father of one of the other children, came over and dragged her to their side.

"Hey-

"Don't worry, little miss. He can't hurt you."

While Delia tried to think of a response to give this ludicrous statement, the children were beginning to get very angry. They felt disgust, as well as a bit of betrayal. To have played with a rat? Awful! It infuriated all of them. One large boy stomped over just as Padraic was getting back on his feet and took the opportunity to shove him back into the snow.

"RAT!" He shouted.

A girl with orange hair kicked snow in Padraic's direction. "Flea eater!"

Suddenly several of the boys ran forward and started shoving him around, throwing snow and insults at him. Each word and chunk of snow hurt worse than if they'd been knives. He tried to just accept the treatment, as he usually did, but his time was different. These were the same children Padraic had been playing with mere hours ago. Now they were ganging up on him, punching and kicking and pulling on his ears and tail. A few of the adults were trying to pull their children out of the dog pile, but others were just watching from a safe distance. The only children who hadn't joined the throng were Tom and Jake, who tried in vain to call their fellows off.

As this went on, Delia was desperately trying to break free from the grip the man had her in. "Stop it," she shrieked. "Let me go! They're going to kill him!"

"And just why do you care?" the man asked her.

Delia ground her teeth and delivered a furious kick to the man's shin. He howled and hopped on one foot, giving Delia the opportunity to get loose and dive into the vicious dog pile. Padraic lay on the sidewalk beneath the other children, blood slowly dripping from several cuts, trying desperately to imagine that this was all a dream and that soon he would wake up in his shared bed at the factory.

When he opened his eyes he hadn't miraculously been sent back to his makeshift home. But he did feel a small bit of happiness; for while Padraic had been trying not to hurt anyone for fear that this would worsen the problem, when he opened his eyes again he had the opportunity to watch Delia clobber an older boy with her bare fists.

"You stupid bloody snake-hearted _bastards_," she cried, and her green eyes flashed as the boy she'd been pummeling ran away, limping.

At the sight of the girl fighting, a few of the mice got off of Padraic and promptly surrounded Delia. She was doing her best, but she was out numbered, and the parents were doing a poor job of wrangling their children. Delia's knees scraped the sidewalk as she went down with a bloody nose.

That was the last straw. Padraic rose up from the heap, bellowing with rage and began hurling the mice children about. This was the angriest he'd ever been. None of his other beatings came close to the level of fury he had just reached at the sight of his only true friend being hurt. Another emotion welled in his chest along with the anger; it was an emotion he'd never felt before. But he'd have to identify it later. Padraic managed to reach Delia just as tears began to run down her cheeks. He helped her stand up and turned back to the crowd, expecting to protect her at any cost.

However, another unfortunate thing had occurred. Padraic, while an intelligent boy, hadn't yet learned what happened when people saw their children being hurt; but he was about to find out.

"How dare you!"

"Little monster-

"Filthy creature-

"Get him! GET HIM!"

Once again, for what felt like the hundredth time that day, Delia started to pull Padraic down the street, but this time it wasn't necessary. He broke into a sprint, running away from the angry mob of mice, and this time he was the one to take the lead. His legs ached but he dared not stop. Delia, still holding her nose from where she'd been struck, sped up a bit so that they were running side by side.

"I know where to go," she called of the rush of cold wind and the dull roar coming from the mob. "Follow me!"

She took them down a side street, and the two were going so fast they nearly collided with a brick wall when they tried to make the turn. They knocked over piles of crates and garbage bins in an effort to slow their pursuers.

"GET THAT RAT!"

The cry sent a jolt of fear tingling through Padraic's spine and he ran even faster.

"Over there," Delia shouted after what felt like hours of running. Really it had only taken them a few minutes to reach an open street that gave a clear view of a massive stone church. Delia ran across the street, and Padraic had no choice but to follow as closely as he could and pray they wouldn't be crushed. The snow was really starting to build up now and they had a tough time moving through the wet, muddy stuff. But they made it to the other side and Delia raced to the mouse sized entrance and yanked the door open. Padraic barreled through the opening and pulled her inside after him and allowed the door to slam shut.

Tom and Jake, having gone in the front to try and help out their friends, saw the two disappear through the church doors. The halted at the edge of the street, not sure what to do. The group of angry mice showed up and asked, "Which way did they go?

The two boys shared a look. Tom was the first to speak.

"I'm not sure," he said.

"I think they took a left," Jake said.

Inside the church, still not feeling safe in the open, Padraic and Delia stepped carefully into the large nave of the church. They looked around and at the same time located a staircase. Having nowhere to go but up they took it.

Outside, the mob split up, one group going left, the other going right. Tom and Jake were left standing on the sidewalk, staring up at the church. Delia could see the from the stained glass window she looked through, and waved to get their attention. They saw and waved back. She walked away from the window, finally sure that she and her friend would be safe for now.

As soon as they had reached the dusty room, Padraic had gone to a corner and collapsed under the weight of his surging emotions. He still lay there, and Delia could hear quiet sobs as she walked over and knelt next to him.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. "I'm so very sorry."

He heard her, and even noticed the break in her voice, but he couldn't answer. He could barely breathe. All he could do was cry, and he would do that just for the rest of the afternoon and a few hours into the evening.

* * *

_Hey, sorry this chapter is so much longer than the others. It's not even done! The next chap is a continuation of this. Hope it doesn't get boring. Also, sorry if I kind of, you know, got anyone's hopes up for a minute there. With this story it's best to always expect the worst part of a situation. That way you either get what you expect or you're pleasantly surprised. I don't own GMD or Ratigan. I just like to torture him. Review please!_


	7. The Joys of Christmas Part 2

Padraic sat up, rubbing his eyes. His fur on his cheeks was damp from his hours of sobbing. He wiped his nose on his sleeve, rubbed his eyes, and looked blearily at his surroundings. At the moment he was in one of the church's storage rooms, surrounded by boxes of candles and stacks of bibles. There was so much junk to take in that it took him a moment to realize that something was missing; Delia was nowhere in sight.

With shaky legs, Padraic stood up and stumbled around in search of his friend. A small part of him felt a bit ashamed for having cried for so long; another part felt a bit hurt that Delia had wandered off while he was upset. Either way he needed to find her. Padraic wandered around, looking behind stacks of miscellaneous objects, shoving piles of paper aside, and carefully avoiding a few eerie, glass-eyed statues.

As he made his way through the room, he began to pick up the sound of some form of music. He found a small wooden door in the back and shoved it open into a large, cob web filled crawl space; the music was louder here. Coughing from the dust, Padraic swatted through the webbing and continued forward, the music now very close and clear.

Then, out of nowhere, a small quavering sound blended itself with the tune. Padraic's ears pricked and in the darkness he searched for the source. He spotted a patch of light a little ways off and stepped over to it, desperate to find what could be making such a sound. When he was near enough the rat stopped and stared, utterly speechless.

"_All on my own, my world is a world of darkness…"_

The sound was actually a voice; a voice that belonged to Delia Drake.

"_I'm all alone, there's no one for company…"_

Slowly, quietly, in the hopes that she wouldn't notice, Padraic sat down and stared. Delia was standing next to a ceiling vent, facing away from him, and quietly singing a little song to match the tune that the church's organist was playing.

"_And in my heart, the music has turned to silence."_

And she was good.

"_I've lost my chance, my chance to dance, was not to be…"_

It wasn't exactly heavenly; it wasn't even that great. But it was soft, sweet, and most of all, soothing. The organ played a few notes and Padraic watched her draw in a new breath before she began again.

"_Far away, there's a light_

_On the breeze, I hear sounds of laughter!_

_And one day, perhaps I might find_

_A way to be happy…"_

"_Happy ever after!"_

Her voice broke slightly, but she pressed on.

"_But now I guess, that loneliness,_

_Is how it's going to be._

'_Cause I'm alone, I'm on my own!"_

"_Just lonely me… Lonely me…"_

She fell silent and the music from below ceased. Padraic stared at the back of his friend's head, trying to gather his thoughts. "Wow," he finally whispered. She, of course, heard him and turned around, horrified.

"You weren't… I never…" she stuttered. It seemed she couldn't think of the right words either.

Padraic rubbed his neck and pulled on his sleeves, fidgeting, not meeting her eyes. "That was nice," he whispered.

She twisted the hem of her dress around in her hands. "You think so?"

"Yes."

"Oh… I've never really sung before; especially not in front of people."

"Well, I liked it."

"Thank you."

They became quiet again as they both tried not to say what they were thinking. The brutal ordeal they'd just been through was the last thing either of them wanted to talk about. As if they'd shared one mind, they looked up at the exact same time and met each other's eyes. A brief, silent conversation passed between them. Delia bit her lip, Padraic nodded, and the mouse girl folded her hands neatly in front of her.

"It's supper time."

"Really?" he asked, trying to sound natural. "Good. I'm starving."

At this she gave him a tiny smile, and he offered her his best grin.

"Well, then, we'd best be getting out of here."

"Lead the way."

* * *

The Drake residence was located in a run down neighborhood where the apartments were crammed together like books that didn't fit on a shelf. The alleyways were covered with snow and filled with mice and people making their way home after a long day of work. A small group of people were standing and singing happy songs, while a bunch of mice stood at their feet doing the same. Delia took Padraic through the clusters of people to one of the crummiest buildings on the block. The windows had been covered with old sheets, the front step was cracked and crumbling, and part of the roof was missing. But Padraic could see a warm light coming from inside, and eagerly followed Delia to the mouse sized front door.

They knocked, and after a moment Mr. Drake came to the door. Padraic started at the sight of him; the man was extremely disheveled, with his hair a mess and large bags under his eyes. But he wore a happy smile nontheless.

"Well, who have we here? A pair of young ragamuffins! Trespassers, no doubt!"

"Daddy!" Delia cried, "Let us in! It's freezing!"

"Not until you give the password," Mr. Drake said bending over slightly to grin down at his daughter. Delia shook her head at her father's silliness, but gave in and kissed the man on the cheek. "I love you Daddy!"

"In that case, I grant you safe passage into the humble house of Drake," he said and with a flourish waved Delia into the little house. He then looked at Padraic.

"Well, what are you waiting for?" he asked, grinning. "It's your turn, you know."

Mr. Drake roared with laughter at the wide-eyed, blushing rat standing on his doorstep. He laughed so hard that he began to cough and had to stumble into the house and sit down, allowing Padraic to sneak in without having to give the password.

Padraic looked around the small home. There were four rooms: the front room which was a combined kitchen, dining, and living room, a toilet closet, a pocket sized bedroom where Mr. and Mrs. Drake slept, and another room behind a closed door that he assumed contained Delia's sleeping quarters. Delia was currently standing in front of a small stove, rubbing her arms to keep warm. Padraic went to join her.

"I like your home," he said.

"Me too," Delia said as she turned around to warm up her rear end. "It's just the right size!"

Padraic heard Mr. Drake give a small grunt as he lit his pipe. The rat turned to look at the tall man as he placed the pipe to his lips; soon there were small smoke clouds appearing. The boy watched closely; even though he spent his days around dozens of men, none of his fellow rats gave him any reason to respect them. This man, however, was different. Maybe it was because of his unnatural generosity, or perhaps the fact that he was Delia's father. Or it could just be the way he carried himself, eyes up, shoulders back, and head always held high. Whatever the reason, Padraic held Mr. Drake in very high regards.

It was clear that his daughter felt the same way. Once she was warmed up, Delia pranced over to where her father sat in a small cushioned chair and took off on one of her rambles, describing everything she and Padraic had done that day (outside a few specific incidents, of course).

"And then we went to the bakery and ate bread, and we went by the butcher shop, and looked in the toy shop window- Oh! I saw Charlotte today!"

"Really? Well, how is our Little Lottie?"

Delia was quiet for a moment. "She's fine."

Mr. Drake, in a similar manner to his wife, raised one eyebrow, but didn't press his daughter for details. Instead he turned to his guest, who seemed to have gotten over the little joke he'd played.

"And what about you, Mr. Ratigan? How way your day?"

Padraic looked away. "Just fine, sir."

The man's other eyebrow raised briefly, and his blue eyes glanced back and forth between the two children. "Well, I'm certainly glad to hear that things were _fine_ as you say."

The three were silent for a moment. Delia and Padraic sat down on the worn rug and scooted close to one another, avoiding Mr. Drake's keen eyes. A part of both of them did want to confide in the kind man; but they knew that it wouldn't really help anything. So they kept quiet until Delia's mother finally came home, pushing the door open and stumbling in with a few packages. At the sight of her family (plus one) her eyes opened wider and shoulders slumped.

"Oh, dear… I was hopin' to get home first."

"It's alright Mummy," said Delia as she went to help her mother with the packages. Padraic followed suit and took what Delia couldn't manage.

"'Tis not a problem me dear," Mr. Drake announced theatrically while getting up to greet his wife. "These children would've waited a century for even the slightest chance of tasting your fine cuisine!" He stepped over and assisted her in removing her wool coat, hanging it on a nearby hook. He then wrapped his arms around her. "And I would've waited many a millennia for the chance to see your pretty, pretty face," he crooned, kissing her forehead.

"Ew!" Delia cried. "Don't look," she said, placing her hands over Padraic's eyes. The rat chuckled at Delia's disgusted tone, thinking it funny that a display of affection should bother her. Seeing how most relationships he'd ever heard of often ended in either death or some form of alcohol induced foolishness, a bit of friendliness between two people was refreshing.

"I must agree with the girl," Mrs. Drake said, kissing her husband on the cheek before squirming away. "You, good sir, are utterly repulsive!"

"Repulsive! Did you hear that? She insulted me using more than two syllables! That makes it personal!"

Mrs. Drake shook her head while pulling her scarf off and hanging it with her coat. "Oh, hush. Now, what does everyone want for supper?"

Delia finally removed her hands from her friend's face and hopped up and down chanting, "Irish stew! Irish stew!"

"Irish?" Padraic asked. He didn't know much of Ireland, except that many of the rats he worked with seemed to come from there. And he'd certainly never had any of its stew.

Mr. Drake spoke up once more, this time using an outrageous accent. "Ah, but did'n ye know laddie? Me wife has a wee bit o' the Irish blood runnin' through her veins!"

Delia's mother frowned and gave her husband a light swat on the shoulder, earning a grin from him. "Stop that!" she said. "What would my mother say if she could hear you?"

"She'd say that I do an excellent impression of your father." Mr. Drake gave a coughing laugh when his wife swatted him once more. Padraic couldn't help but admire the playfulness between the two adults. Yes, it was certainly nice to find two people who really did care about one another.

At Delia's request, Mrs. Drake walked over to the kitchen area and began peeling potatoes for the stew. Mr. Drake stood next to her and asked about her day. Delia turned to Padraic and asked, "Do you want to see my room?"

Padraic nodded, and Delia performed her usual act of dragging him across the room. At the door he stopped, suddenly unsure if going into a girl's bedroom was the polite thing to do. Nevertheless, he was curious and went in anyway.

The room (if it could honestly be called a room) was just big enough for a tiny stool tucked into the corner a little bed made up of an old matchbox and a few clumps of wool. Right now Delia was reaching underneath the wool to pull something out.

"I can't wait to show you this," she whispered. "It's my favorite thing in the whole world."

Padraic, trying to make room, shut the door and wedged himself into the corner, sitting as lightly as he could on the wooden stool. He leaned forward in anticipation, eager to see what had Delia so excited.

The young girl smiled her crooked smile and happily pulled from behind her back, a shiny harmonica. Padraic tilted his head to the side, studying the instrument carefully. He was confused. "_This_ is your favorite thing?"

"Yes! Just listen," she said. Delia gently placed her lips against the metal, blew into the comb, and a tinny sound floated into the air. She carefully moved the instrument along her lips, creating a very off key, but strangely enjoyable noise. Delia closed her eyes, lost in her melody, which no doubt to her sounded like something belonging in an opera house. Padraic smiled; the music coupled with the peaceful look on her face made him happy, and eased the pain and tension he'd been feeling for the past few hours.

It was times like this that he reminded himself of the important things: yes he was in a bad position overall, but he had food and shelter, decent enough roommates, and a better friend than he ever could have asked for. He smile widened a bit as Delia opened her eyes and stopped playing.

"Here," she said and carefully placed it in Padraic's hands. "Give it a try."

Just as tentatively as she had, Padraic pressed his lips to the comb and blew. The first few notes sounded like wheezing, but after a few tries he worked out what movements made what sounds, and soon he was playing a little tune that he'd heard the carolers singing outside earlier. Delia stared at him and after a moment shook her head.

"How do you do it?"

Padraic paused in his playing. "Do what?"

"Learn things so fast. It's like you don't even have to think. You just know."

Not sure what to say, Padraic stared at his reflection in the harmonica's shiny surface. A large pair of eyes stared back. "I don't know," he answered. "Lucky I supposed."

"Well," Delia said," sitting on her bed, "you're smarter than I'll ever be. Smarter than anyone will ever be."

The rat snorted. "That's not so, Deli. But thank you for the compliment."

"It's so if I say it's so!" She crossed her arms for added effect.

Padraic chuckled, shook his head, and went back to playing. Oh, how lucky he was.

A while later, the stew was ready and being spooned into small wooden bowls. Padraic gingerly accepted his bowl and breathed in the warm scent of onion and potato. Right away he began slurping out of the bowl, only stopping when he noticed the Drakes were staring at him.

"Padraic," Mrs. Drake asked, "would you like some help with that?"

"What?"

"You're supposed to use a spoon, silly," Delia giggled pushing a wooden spoon in his direction.

"Oh," Padraic said quietly. His ears burned with embarrassment. He picked the spoon up and waited until the others weren't looking at him before he scooped the stew into his mouth.

"_Why did that have to happen," he asked himself. "Why didn't I notice the spoons sitting there? Why did I have to be so disgusting? Why, why, why…?"_

He was relieved when the Drakes seemingly forgot the incident, instead falling into casual dinner conversation. Not wanting to draw attention, Padraic opted for simply nodding and mumbling when spoken too. He made sure that he had a mouth filled with food as often as possible. Mrs. Drake had made fresh biscuits and delicious meat pie to along with the stew and by the time the four rodents were finished with their feast, their stomachs were full and happy.

"Once again, you have outdone yourself my darling," Mr. Drake said, hefting himself out of his chair. He walked into the living area and lowered himself back into his chair, taking up his pipe once more. Mrs. Drake took the dishes to the sink and Padraic scurried to help her, while Delia ran wet cloth over the table. Once everything was cleaned up they went to join Mr. Drake in the living room, Mrs. Drake sitting in an old rocking chair, with Delia and Padraic on the floor.

"Now what?" Padraic whispered to Delia.

"Now it's time for presents!" she shouted, throwing her arms in the air.

"Presents?" he asked.

"Presents?" asked Mr. Drake. "What on earth gave you the idea that we were the sort of people to give out presents?"

"Oh Daddy, you're so silly," Delia laughed and climbed into her father's lap. "We always have presents."

"Yes, we do," Mrs. Drake said as she reached to grab two of the packages she had brought in earlier. "Of course these are normally supposed to be opened on Christmas Day, but we didn't think anyone would mind." She handed one package to her husband and one to her daughter. Delia immediately tore into her gift, sending the brown paper flying.

"Well what could this be?" Mr. Drake asked before swiftly tearing off the paper. A piece of wood with a small carving knife was revealed. Mr. Drake smiled, took the knife, and started sweeping it down the edge of the wood. "Thank you, love."

Delia, having finally gotten her gift open, gasped at the sight of a tiny wooden box. She opened it and soft music floated into the room. Padraic leaned closer so that he could hear every note; he was starting to have quite a liking for music.

"Thank you so much!" Delia cried, and she ran to hug both of her parents.

"You're welcome dear," Mrs. Drake said as she hugged her daughter. Padraic saw a glimmer of sadness pass over the woman's face. Then it disappeared, and she said, "Now enough of that thanking us. You deserve it darling."

"Yes she does," Mr. Drake concurred, still whittling away.

Delia glanced at Padraic and asked, "Mummy, may I go get _it_?"

Mrs. Drake chuckled. "Of course you may go get _it_."

Padraic watched Delia go to her parent's room. She came back a moment later holding her hands behind her back.

"Close your eyes!"

He hesitated. "Why?"

"Just do it."

As soon as he complied, he felt something soft being wrapped tightly around his head. He mumbled through the object, but couldn't make any sound come out. He opened his eyes and reached up to pull the thing loose. It was a long piece of knit cloth in a hodgepodge collection of colors.

"It's a scarf," Delia said proudly. "Mummy helped me make it with the extra yarn we had; do you like it?"

Padraic turned the scarf over in his hands, feeling the fabric, looking at all of the reds, blues, and greens that adorned this new article of clothing. His heart swelled when he thought of how long it must have taken to make it, how much consideration must have gone into each stitch. It was the first, and by far the best, present he'd ever received, and he couldn't help but feel guilty he had nothing to give in return. He finally looked at her and said, trying to keep the emotion out of his voice, "I love it."

"I knew you would!" she said, delighted that she'd made him happy. She picked up her little music box and in her joy, threw her arms around Padraic's neck.

"Happy First Christmas, Padraic James Ratigan!"

She squeezed him, robbing him of oxygen. After a few seconds he had to shove her off.

"If you don't stop, I won't survive 'till my second Christmas!"

Mr. and Mrs. Drake laughed at this, long and hard. Mr. Drake was having a particularly good laugh until he started coughing again. But this time, the coughing lasted until after his laughter had finished, and some more after that.

"Daddy, are you alright?" Delia asked, looking concerned.

"Of course _*cough* _I'm perfect _*cough*_ ly fine!"

He continued to hack, putting a fist over his mouth. Padraic backed away, suddenly feeling very uncomfortable at the sight of someone in such a state.

"You didn't take your medicine, did you?" Mrs. Drake asked, suddenly furious. The coughing man waved a hand in his wife's direction and stumbled into his bedroom. Mrs. Drake followed her husband and slammed the door shut. The two children looked at each other, feeling awkward. On the other side of the door, Mr. Drake's coughing finally tapered off into a dull wheeze, and was replaced by the sound of voices.

Delia motioned for Padraic to follow her and crawled over to the door of her parents' bedroom. The rat followed and knelt next to her. The two peered into the room through a crack in the door frame and watched what was going on inside.

"Why won't you just take it like the doctor told you to?" Mrs. Drake was asking, still sounding angry.

"Because," he wheezed, while shoving a cork back into a brown bottle, "I'm running out fast and it's too expensive to get more."

"You could have killed yourself!"

"Oh, don't be ridiculous; I'm fine."

"Fine? You stopped breathing!"

"It was only for a moment-

"A moment is all it takes, Daniel."

Mrs. Drake sat down on the bed, her back to the door. Mr. Drake sighed and ran a hand through his black curls. The two sat in silence for a moment, and the children watching fidgeted uncomfortably.

Finally he said, "I'm sorry, Carol."

She didn't answer, and just put her face in her hands. He got up and rounded the bed, going to sit next to her.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, putting an arm around her. "I'll take it next time."

"Next time…"

"I will. I promise. It's just that I feel terrible having to dip into our cash just to buy medicine." He leaned back, removing his arm from her. "Ever since the taxes went up and we got kicked out of the apartment we've been working our tails off. Delia hasn't gotten a day off in months; it's too much for a little girl."

"I know, I know," Carol said, finally lifting her head. "I feel terrible making her go to that place, but we need every penny we can get. Especially since you lost your job."

"My job," he snorted. "If that's what you want to call it. Sitting there, counting, adding… All the while that bastard of a boss is trying to find some reason to fire me…"

"You didn't belong at a place like that," she whispered. "You never have."

"No; I belonged there. It's like my father said: I, Daniel Drake, am a complete failure."

"Oh, no!" she said, finally looking at him. "You're not a failure at all! You didn't choose to get stuck like this. If anything this is my fault."

"What?" he asked, sitting up.

"You heard me. If it weren't for me you wouldn't be living like this."

"Darling, without you I wouldn't have a life at all. You're my world, you and Delia. What would I do without my little ladies?"

"Take warm baths? Dress nicely? Eat scones and crepes every day?"

"Hogwash. That's not a life. That's an act that people who are truly poor put on."

Mr. Drake reached into his pocket and pulled out a small box which he gave to his wife.

"I thought I said not to get anything for me," she complained.

Mr. Drake shrugged and leaned back in his chair. "Yes, but when do I ever listen to you?"

She shook her head and opened the box. Her mouth dropped open a bit and then turned up into a tiny smile. Padraic was amazed at the array of emotions which passed over her face as Mrs. Drake lifted a thin silver necklace out of the box. A tiny pendant hung from it in the shape of a heart.

"It's not much-

"It is much," Mrs. Drake interrupted her husband. "So much…" She placed the necklace back in the box and without looking, reached over and held her husband's hand. Mr. Drake smiled and kissed her fingertips.

It wasn't until now that Padraic noticed how different the two were. Mrs. Drake, while beautiful, looked every bit like a lower class worker. Mr. Drake however looked as if he was supposed to be living grandly, with servants to command and money to spend. Yet she seemed to be intelligent while he was more childish, and they were both endlessly nice.

_Well,_ he decided,_ in any case they seem right for each other._

Truer words couldn't have been said, as the two adults turned to smile at one another, endless words of love passing between the two in just one look.

"Enjoying the show?" Mrs. Drake asked.

The two children gasped; they'd had no idea that the adults had noticed them.

"Perhaps we should start kissing again?" Mr. Drake suggested.

"No!" Delia shouted.

The two adults chuckled slightly, breaking off when Mr. Drake let out a slight cough. They got up and went to the door, opening it with a shared smile.

"Are you through spying on us?" Mrs. Drake asked lightly.

The children blushed. "Yes, mother."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Good."

Mr. Drake checked his pocket watch. "It's getting rather late; Delia I'm afraid I'll need to take Padraic home."

Delia stood up, shoulders slumped, lip puckered and said, "No Daddy! We were just having fun!"

"No whining, young lady," Mrs. Drake said while walking over to her rocking chair.

"It's alright," Padraic said. "I need to get back anyway. And you don't need you to walk me there, Mr. Drake. I'll be perfectly fine on my own. Why don't you stay here and rest?"

"Nonsense, I don't need to r-

On the word rest his coughing began again, not as heavy as the last bout, but certainly painful.

"I agree with Padraic," Mrs. Drake said, pulling her husband over to his chair. "Delia, do you think you can go there and come back by yourself?"

"Yes, Mummy," Delia said, already pulling her boots on.

"You'll be coming back tomorrow, won't you Padraic?" Mr. Drake asked wheezily.

"If you'll have me, Sir."

"O'Course he'll have you," Delia said, with her coat now on. "We'll all have you. Now cammon, Paddy."

Padraic followed her out the door, grumbling, "Don't call me Paddy…"

"Watch out for mistletoe, you two!" Mr. Drake called teasingly, and his wife giggled.

Delia made a face and said ,"Oh, Daddy…" leaving her friend to wonder what on earth mistletoe was.

With a warm farewell to the Drakes, Delia and Padraic set out into the cold night, leaving Mrs. Drake to comfort her sickly husband.

The snow was falling again, tiny flurries of white dropping from the sky and settling in the children's black hair. The street lamps had been lit, giving off a faint glow. Padraic rubbed his arms to warm himself against the frigid air. He glanced over at Delia.

"Thank you for dinner."

"No need to thank me; I didn't make it."

"No, but you invited me. It means a lot."

She shook her head, looking up at the floating flakes. "I wanted you there. To me it means a lot that you came."

He smiled as they walked past the rows of shops closed for the night. He'd never been in the city at night; it was as if everyone and everything had been laid to rest for the night. The rat admired the various decorations that hung in the windows of the shops: wreathes adorned with pinecones and bows, bright silver bells, sprigs of holly in bright red hues.

Then he noticed something different, hanging above the door of a dress shop. It was little, green, and had a red ribbon tied around it. Padraic stopped to get a better look.

"What is it?"

Delia looked back at him, and followed the direction of his gaze. She let out a sigh. "Oh, no…"

Padraic looked at her, curious as to why she looked exasperated. "What?"

"It's mistletoe," she grunted. "How did my father know?"

"Know what? What is mistletoe?" He was truly curious now.

Delia shook her head. "It's a stupid plant that kills things. But at Christmas people hang them and if you get caught beneath it with someone, you have to kiss them." She wrinkled her nose. "It's disgusting!"

Padraic tilted his head back and laughed.

It was Delia's turn to ask, "What?"

"I just think it's funny how you hate kissing so much," he replied, strolling over to get a better look at the strange plant. He stood beneath it, looking directly up, wondering why a plant would entice people to kiss. He started when Delia came up next to him, her arms crossed over her chest.

"So what if I don't like kissing?"

Padraic stared at her quietly. Then he pointed upwards. Delia looked up at the plant hanging over her head and let out a small, "Oh…" before looking him in the eye.

The street was quiet, and the snowfall had stopped for just a moment. Padraic breathed out slowly, his breath warming the air. Delia was staring at him with her bright green eyes, a look that still paralyzed him.

"Close your eyes," she whispered solemnly. The boy did so, locking his arms at his sides in his nervousness.

_Am I dreaming? Or is she…is she really going to-_

Something cold and wet exploded in Padraic's face and he fell backwards in shock. When he opened his eyes he was treated to the sight of Delia wiping snow from her mittens, smiling evilly at him. The boy's jaw dropped and she bent in half with laughter.

Feeling cheated, Padraic jumped to his feet, grabbed a chunk of snow and hurled it in Delia's direction. It crashed against her chest, she laughed again, and soon they were running down the street hurling snow at one another.

Padraic's heart felt lighter than it ever had. With a belly full of food, a scarf around his neck, and a warm feeling inside from having been treated so well, he couldn't help but forget all that had happened to him today. It was as if all of the poor times from his life had stepped out for a moment, leaving the rat with a handful of happy memories dancing through his mind.

All too soon they reached the factory, the lowly sweat shop that he had so come to loathe. Delia slowed to a stop, staring up at the building mournfully.

"I wish you didn't have to stay here."

"That makes too of us," he mumbled, walking past her and towards the ground floor window. It felt like weeks had past since he'd last crawled out of this window, and he wondered if there would ever be a day that he was brave enough to just walk away from the factory altogether.

He turned back to Delia and said, "Thank you again for the scarf." The boy reached up to touch the soft gift. "I really do love it."

"I know. And don't feel bad," she said, slugging him playfully. "Maybe next year you can get me a present."

Padraic blushed, feeling guilty once more.

_Why didn't I think of getting her something? I must seem so stupid. Stupid and poor and…_

Then he had an idea.

"Wait here a moment," he said before slipping into the factory's basement. His fellow rats were lying in heaps on the floor, having gotten drunk on hidden ale and whiskey. Padraic tiptoed around to them and made it to a pile of string in the corner. The rat dug into his pants pocket, praying that he right in his assumption…

_Yes!_ He smiled in triumph as pulled out a copper button. The same button he'd collected the day he and Delia first met. Excited, he grabbed a piece of string from the pile and knotted it around the button. Then he tied the loose ends into a knot as well so that the string made a large loop. Padraic grinned, delighted with himself for coming up with this idea on the spot, and made his way to the window as quickly and quietly as possible.

The rat boy crawled back into the open air still feeling quite pleased with himself, and froze when he saw Delia. The snow had started again, and she simply turning slowly in place, her face turned up to the sky, eyes closed. Padraic felt the same way he had early today when he'd heard Delia sing: completely awed and shocked. She looked so peaceful and, in the glow from the lamps, almost pretty.

She stopped turning and looked at him, a crooked smile shining brightly at him. Padraic looked at his feet and hid his gift behind his back, suddenly too embarrassed to give it to her.

"Well," Delia said, walking up to him, "what is it? What were you going to show me?"

"It's nothing…"

"I don't believe you."

"Really it's…it's nothing…"

"Padraic James Ratigan," she said and stomped her foot. "If you don't tell me this moment I swear I'll-

"Oh, here," he said, grabbing her hand and thrusting the button into it. "It's supposed to be a necklace, but it's just trash."

Delia held the button up to the light, transfixed for a moment. Her mouth turned up in a smile. "It's beautiful."

Padraic's brow raised. "What?"

"I said it's beautiful! It's the best Christmas gift I've ever gotten!"

The boy was now thoroughly convinced that his friend was madder than a hatter. Nevertheless she seemed genuinely pleased as she put the button around her neck, staring at it all the while. Then she looked at him, still smiling.

"Merry Christmas."

She wrapped her arms around him and he stood still for a moment. Then he hugged her back, warmth washing over his body.

The two pulled apart and Delia walked away, still smiling. They didn't say goodbye; after all it wasn't as if they were really parting. They would be together again soon enough.

Until then he would be in the factory, sleeping amongst his fellow rats. As he lay with them he realized that Delia was right; this time of year did seem to bring out the best in most people. Even the rats seemed better, as they slept closer than ever, a giant mass of warm bodies bonded over mutual loneliness.

Padraic fell asleep with a smile, his nose buried in the homemade scarf.

* * *

**I see you (maybe) getting warm fuzzies... Well knock it off! This is no place for happiness. **

**I'm sorry this took so long. I especially apologize to my kindly reviewers. **

**As previously stated, I do not own GMD or Ratigan. **

**Also, to those of you who have been complaining: This story isn't meant to justify Ratigan's actions in the film. This is meant to provide a backstory, a way to explain why he's so messed up. A person can't be born with that much rage and craziness; it develops over time. Whether or not Ratigan's actions were completely monstrous is neither my concern nor purpose for writing this story. Also: it's a STORY. The entire GMD world is FICTIONAL. No one knows what Ratigan's actual backstory is; even the books don't give him one. This is just an idea I came up with, so I'm sorry if it offends anyone.**

**If you've gotten this far than you probably already read it. So why not review? Huh? Please? **


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